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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23844058">I like you better when I'm drunk</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_strangest_person/pseuds/the_strangest_person'>the_strangest_person</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidental Cuddling, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Diana is a great wingwoman, Drunken Shenanigans, Falling In Love, Hate to Love, Modern AU, Neighbors, Renew Anne with an E, Shirbert, Writer's Block, actually they both are, anne and gilbert are just the best to write, anne drinks away her problems, anne swears a lot sorry, bash makes the best cocktails, be nice this is my first attempt at modern shirbert, both are a mess, but he teases her so she hates him straight away, cole is a bad influence, gilbert is a gentleman, going to bars, these two need to short their lives out, writing a drunk character is so fun</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:00:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,756</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23844058</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_strangest_person/pseuds/the_strangest_person</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>~modern AU~</p><p>anne comes home drunk and tries to get into her new neighbor's apartment by mistake</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>91</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>257</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. not your typical one-night stand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is my very first attempt at writing modern shirbert so please be kind and leave me some feedback because I am worried this came out terrible </p><p>love you all</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Anne watched as her editor became a fire-breathing dragon right before her very eyes. His nose had always been rather pointed and her imagination had always been hard to control,  and without being able to help herself, there she was, turning him into a fantastical beast that would be easier to slay. It was not the first attempt to conjure him into something worthwhile, in fact she had always pictured smoke pouring out of his ears as his nostrils flared and his shoulders constantly tensed up as if colorful prickles were emerging from underneath his suit. He had been cold since the beginning, watching her carefully from across his desk as she rattled on about her ideas, stalking his prey with cruel and calculating eyes. She tried to imagine him with terrible claws, snarling and hissing as he flew up to the tops of the trees. But that afternoon - his words were sharper than teeth piercing through flesh, his fire torching her heart as he crushed her hopes and dreams. If she was a warrior princess like her very own Cordelia, she would take out her trusty dagger and finish the job in minutes, lifting his severed head high into the sky. Or perhaps she would merely destroy him with her words, shouting at him until he flew back to the outskirts of her kingdom, starting to look more like a fearful chicken than a mighty ferocious beast. But he was no dragon, and sitting at his messy desk, she suddenly wished that he was. As a young woman in her editor's office, she was left defenseless, no weapon of any kind and no words charming enough to change his mind. He practically brushed her opposing argument away and she felt like nothing more than crumpled pieces of paper being swept into the bin.</p><p>"But-"</p><p>"What did I say?" he leaned forward in his chair, looming over her with raised eyebrows, "...<em>no buts.</em> I'm your editor and I don't want to hear another word of this nonsense. You never had the best ideas, but this one is surely the worst yet-"</p><p>Anne bristled, "If you would just let me finish-"</p><p>"If you continue to defy my instructions, then I'll happily send you on your way to find yourself a new editor. But if I remember correctly, I am the last one in Toronto that hasn't had you sent away by security, aren't I?" he hampered on, daring her to argue.</p><p> Ted Phillips had (unfortunately) been her last resort. The other publishing houses in her city had laughed in her face when she provided the details of her latest novel, mentioning words like<em> childish</em> and <em>fantasy</em>. They had all been impressed with her short story admissions during college, perhaps the only reason that they agreed to meet with her in the first place, but as soon as they heard about her latest character being a warrior princess - that is when they stopped taking her seriously. It<em> was</em> fantasy, she knew that, but if she was provided with an imagination, what would be the point in not indulging in what it truly desired to create? She had seen Ted's picture online in several articles, grimacing at such a grumpy expression being her final hope to fulfill her dreams. As much as she despised him, he had been successful with many other young writers and it was his reputation that had her clamping her jaw shut, before she said something that she would soon regret. She blew a piece of hair out of her face, knowing that while Princess Cordelia was a whiz at slaying dragons, nothing compared to the uptight forty year-old man in front of her.</p><p>She sighed, placing her hands on his desk politely, "I really do appreciate you giving me a chance and I know that some of my ideas are a little more far-fetched-"</p><p><em>"Ridiculous?"</em> he supplied, looking at her warily.</p><p>Anne clenched her fists, doing everything in her power to not leap over the desk and strangle him. If she could not slay the dragon, she wondered, maybe it would be best to become the beast herself.</p><p>"I know that we have different opinions, but I asked for your help and we signed a contract. Surely that must count for something?"</p><p>Ted crossed his arms over his chest, "<em>Our contract</em> is the reason that I haven't asked security to escort you out of the building."</p><p>She spoke through gritted teeth, "Look, I appreciate your...<em>generosity</em>, but I must ask you to reconsider your decision. This manuscript took me months to put together, I have spent nearly a year on this concept and I put my heart and soul into it. While I respect your opinion, I think you're being a little hasty here and I ask you to please take another look at my draft. Contrary to what you think, I believe in what I wrote. I believe in Cordelia's story and I am just asking you to think about it for a little while longer instead of-"</p><p><em>"Miss Shirley..."</em> as he clasped his hands together in front of her, the vein by his temple bulged, "...let me give you a piece of advice."</p><p>She bit her lip, hope rising in her chest.</p><p>"When I tell you to do something, it is not a choice. It is an <em>instruction</em> and if you do not follow my instructions, then I will tear up that contract and send you back to barging through all of the publishing houses in Toronto."</p><p>Anne practically snarled at him as she stood from her chair, snatching her forgotten manuscript off his desk.</p><p>"I'll see you in two weeks with a new copy."</p><p><em>Fuck you,</em> she wanted to say, the words practically jumping off her tongue. But her heart was heavy with the knowledge that a contract and a tiring dream were binding her to the untameable creature, so she settled for slamming the door instead.</p><p>Anne only drank on really<em> special </em>occasions. She had to remind herself that no amount of alcohol would stop the writer's block that she had been stuck in for weeks, that she was a busy young woman that had plenty of important matters to tend to, matters that did not involve using her credit card to purchase one too-many cocktails. But in reality, she was just a <em>really</em> bad lightweight. It turned out that staying inside watching Netflix or staring at a blank word document until she wanted to rip her hair out, did wonders to minimize the causalities caused by her getting drunk. She could specifically remember a particularly horrendous night out where, surrounded by her two best friends (whom she loved dearly but could only describe as terrible influences), she had started dancing on top of the bar, cheered on by a crowd of strangers. But after taking Diana's (awful) advice to borrow platform heels for the night, she soon fell off the bar as gracefully as she could, cutting her chin open on a broken beer bottle. Despite what it seemed, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was an extremely <em>responsible</em> adult. At twenty two years of age, she had published two short stories and was on her way to publishing her first real novel, she poured the milk in <em>after</em> the cereal, always recycled her mail and even started to rent her first apartment in the city. In honesty, it was a wonder that she had not yet been kicked out of said apartment, considering the loud music that she often blasted when emotional and the few times that she had almost been late to paying her rent. But she suspected that her creepy landlord was more than willing to forgive her for needing to get a new pair of keys cut, after the last pair ended up in the trash after another night out. So yes, getting drunk was a bad idea for her, perhaps hazardous.</p><p>But after having her dreams of being a bestselling writer crushed, Anne couldn't see a more <em>special </em>occasion to get stupidly fucking drunk.</p><p>...</p><p>"It's complete and utter <em>bullshit!"</em> she moaned, "I mean, how can he <em>reject</em> my manuscript? He's not getting paid to do exactly what every other publishing house in the city did, he's my editor!"</p><p>Cole replied in a distracted tone, "...I mean, he's supposed to give you notes, right?"</p><p>Anne snorted, wiping the remnants of her cocktail away from her chin, "Well, demanding that I rewrite the entire book is a pretty fucking big <em>note</em> if you ask me."</p><p>"Are you really sure that he's worth it?" her dearest friend Diana asked, biting her lip in concern. "...surely there's another way than letting him treat you-"</p><p>"When the only other option is admitting to Matthew and Marilla that I moved halfway across Canada to blow every opportunity that I have of being a published author-", she raised her eyebrows, tone filled with bitterness, "..<em>.anything</em> is worth it."</p><p>Diana sighed, "Is it really such a bad idea to ask them for help?"</p><p>"I moved to Toronto because I <em>didn't</em> want help, Diana! And if I call them now and beg for help to cover my rent, then it will have all been for nothing. I wanted to make it on my own, that's why I worked three jobs last summer and used the rest of my savings to move here...besides, I don't want to worry Matthew. It's not good for his heart."</p><p>Anne felt her hand being squeezed reassuringly.</p><p>"You want my advice?" the voice to her side drawled, head bent over the table that they were sitting at. Cole McKenzie was an artist, the first person that they met on a night out in Toronto and coincidentally, the only person kind enough to tell them that they had accidentally stumbled into a gay bar. He had stuck by their side ever since, giving the two small-town girls a tour of the big city, showing off his favorite spots and all of the potential single men in the clubs while Anne insisted on staying independent. As an artist, he was still painting and molding in his cramped apartment, but he had an eye for color and a carefree nature that she could only dream of. He sat there in his usual spot at their table, scattering salt over the wooden surface, scooping it into piles before drawing shapes absentmindedly. Strangely, they somehow hadn't yet been kicked out of their favorite bar either. Perhaps the staff had taken pity on the three young adults that stayed until closing time every weekend, drinking away their sorrows and hopeless dreams.</p><p>Anne drew a mournful jagged line through the heart that he made out of the salt, "I'll probably regret this, but sure."</p><p>Cole shrugged, an amused look in his eye as he wiped away some of the salt. "I would go home early tonight, get started on that manuscript rewrite and give him something that will turn the tips of his large ears purple. I'm talking some erotica, you know - maybe create your very own version of <em>Fifty Shades Of Grey."</em></p><p>Anne scoffed, "That's not a bad idea. I'm sure he would appreciate the entire lack of feminism in that concept."</p><p>"You want my advice?" Diana scowled, "...<em>don't </em>take Cole's advice."</p><p><em>"Hey!</em> If you keep that attitude up, I'll go home with the first mildly-attractive stranger that I see, and who will pay for your uber home <em>then?"</em></p><p>She sighed, turning to her forlorn best friend with a sheepish expression, "What is going to help?"</p><p>Anne shot up from her chair<em>, "Shots."</em></p><p>Diana sent Cole a wary look as their best friend bounded over to the bar, practically slamming her purse down on the counter. Her favorite bartender was over in seconds, flashing her a friendly smile as he scratched his growing beard. <em>"Well, if it isn't my favorite customer!"</em></p><p>"Bash!"</p><p>Over the year as she settled into Toronto (it was exceedingly difficult to settle into somewhere so much larger than she was used to), they had become regulars at most of the bars, staying until closing time or until they were practically shooed out of the door in fits of laughter. Bash had to come to appreciate the big words that she used in every sentence, and perhaps found it amusing when she cried in the arms of her best friends or puked her guts up in the nearby toilet. But if he was being honest - she just always seemed so...<em>sad</em>.  He could tell that she was different from the crowds of underage teenagers and young adults that danced their night away at the bar, ordering fancy cocktails and playing drinking games. To her, it didn't seem so fun. There had always been a light in her eyes from the moment he saw her, a spark brighter than her red hair, the soul of a fighter. He had watched with a heavy heart as she spoke of her hopeless dreams, convinced that the world was against her even though her life had barely begun and all he could hope was that, one day, hopefully someday soon - she would take better care of herself. It was why he let her rant on about her troubles past closing time, warning her away from the regular creeps in the bar, double checking that she could find her way home. He could only hope that someone would do the same for his own daughter, a cheery little girl that was tucked up in bed next to her stubborn mother who would be waiting up for him to get back from work.</p><p>"What can I get for you?" he grinned.</p><p>Anne shrugged, "Whatever's strongest."</p><p>He raised his eyebrows at her over the bar, bending down slightly to scan her credit card on the machine, "Rough day?"</p><p>"You have<em> no</em> idea."</p><p>Bash pointed a finger at her, raising his eyebrows, "Well, you be safe - you hear me?"</p><p>
  <em>"I always am."</em>
</p><p>...</p><p><strong><em>"-SHIT!",</em></strong> Anne groaned, rubbing the top of her head as she dragged herself up from the concrete floor. A spot near her temple was throbbing and she still had two more flights of stairs to climb, but honestly - that street light came out of nowhere! They were steep but she climbed up them two at a time, the material of her velvet green dress flapping up in the harsh wind. She imagined that it was around 9pm at night, the street lamps above her were flickering and she could hear the sound of car engines in the distance, but she still wondered why her neighbors were all being so quiet. Her apartment building had crumbling paint and a large metal sign that swung from side to side, squeaking with instability as the sensible building tenants dodged its path. But it just looked so pretty underneath the twinkling lights of the street and Anne span underneath it, tugging at her dress as she giggled to herself. It felt like the world was moving in slow motion, her vision blurred like when she forgot to put her reading glasses on and her body felt lighter than air. For a moment she really wondered if she had soared up to the rooftops, flying away to her own magical kingdom, but then her stomach turned and she stumbled to a stop. As she laughed and nearly fell onto her ass again, Anne counted herself lucky that she had insisted on wearing black boots instead of Diana's dangerous platform heels.</p><p>She jumped in triumph when she found her apartment door, fumbling to find the key in her bag, cheering out with glee when she found it - scoffing at those who often called her irresponsible.</p><p>The key was small and she squinted at it, turning it in different directions before shrugging and stuffing it inside the small lock. But it wouldn't budge, refusing to twist and unlock her door and she whined to herself, wanting nothing more than to throw up and collapse into her bed. It became a nuisance and no matter how hard she tried to jam it in the lock, the key wouldn't fit, the jagged hole spitting it back out. Anne groaned, whacking her head against her door in frustration. She put the key back in her bag and let it drop to the floor with a cluttering sound, banging her hair against the door a few more times in the hope that it would magically open for her. With a gasp, she wondered if it would answer to a series of spells and she cleared her throat, preparing to recite several enchanting words so that the mystical doorway would allow her passage inside.</p><p>
  <em>"It's 2am, who the hell is-"</em>
</p><p>She almost fell flat on her face as the apartment door opened from the other side, a head of messy curls greeting her. The world was still spinning, but her eyes were able to focus slightly on the face in front of her, as if she was looking through a camera lens and zooming in for high definition. It was a guy that could be the same age as her, maybe even a little older, but as he frowned and wiped the sleep out of his eyes - he reminded her of a grumpy child. His eyes widened when they saw her and she squinted, tilting her head at the autumnal orbs - <em>maybe brown, maybe green, maybe grey.</em> But he was looking at her with furrowed eyebrows, looking around for a moment as if convinced that he was still dreaming. When she looked down, she noticed his red plaid pyjama bottoms and that's when she really started to laugh. He let her laugh for a moment, glancing around anxiously in the hopes that she wouldn't wake anyone else up, some part of him still hoping that it was just a dream, a really, <em>really</em> strange dream. Anne noticed that they were standing in the doorway with his hand on the doorknob, wondering where the hell she came from, looking at her as if she didn't belong there - and that's when it hit her.</p><p>"What are you doing in <em>my</em> apartment?" she exclaimed.</p><p>"<em>Your</em> apartment?"</p><p>Her eyes widened in fear, <em>"Did you break in?</em> Are y-you<em> stealing </em>from my apart...apartment? <em>How dare you!</em> I'll call an ambulance!"</p><p>He looked at her as if she was crazy, "I didn't break in-"</p><p>"I don't know who you think you are..." she narrowed her eyes at him, pointing a finger in his direction that shook slightly, "...but with a little effort, I'm sure I could beat you in a fight! I'm good at slaying dragons, being a warrior princess and all, even though I have trouble with circumlocution, but...oh - <em>alright!</em> There is-isn't even anything worth stealing anyway, u-unless you collect house plants <em>- oh no, no, no, no...</em>don't take my house plants! A-and what...whatever you d-do, don't look in the frog shaped biscuit tin!"</p><p>The guy let out a huff, looking up to the ceiling in exasperation, "...there won't be a frog shaped biscuit tin - because this is<em> MY</em> apartment."</p><p>"You're really t-tired for 9pm" she frowned.</p><p>
  <em>"It's 2am."</em>
</p><p>"No-", she stomped her foot, "...<em>it's 9pm."</em></p><p>He grumbled something incoherent underneath his breath, before turning to meet her eyes once more, "Look, this is my apartment. There are still boxes behind me, I've only just moved in this week! You're a hypocrite to accuse me of breaking in, you're the one that was banging on the door in the middle of the night - the door of <em>my</em> apartment, let me just reiterate."</p><p>Anne glared at him, "I-I didn't...I've got my keys!"</p><p>He crossed his arms over his chest, raising a single eyebrow at her, "...and were you able to open the door with them?"</p><p>Her mind was hazy, words stuttering to a stop, "...w-well, <em>no."</em></p><p>"Did you stop to think for a second that maybe - <em>just maybe -</em> your keys didn't fit inside my lock because this is <em>my </em>apartment?"</p><p>She looked down at the keys on top of her bag, both of which were laying on the floor between them. He seemed to sigh for a moment, catching onto the slur in her voice and the wild movements of her eyes, he could only hope that she hadn't been followed home by any creeps or the weird landlord that he instantly reminded himself to avoid at all costs. After realizing her intoxicated state, he sighed and picked up her belongings from the floor.</p><p>"Where do you live? Do you know where your apartment is?"</p><p>Anne opened her mouth quickly but he stopped her, holding up a hand - "... and not this apartment."</p><p>She shrugged sheepishly, grinning at him.</p><p><em>"Great"</em> he muttered under his breath, sleepily scratching the curls at the nape of his neck as he looked around hopelessly. But his eyes were gentle when he looked at her and she realized that he had a grouchy voice that softened at the edge, as if he was tired of always helping everyone around him, but would end up doing it anyway. The stitching on his pajamas was loose in areas, the hem of his bottoms frayed and she noticed that he slept with his socks on. They were mismatched : one black, the other grey. It was endearing enough to make her giggle and although she did have to tilt her head up slightly to look into his eyes - she didn't really mind the extra trouble. Her bag was twitching in his hands as if he didn't know what to do, a small crease between his eyebrows as he assessed the situation. When he noticed her staring at him unashamed, the tips of his ears turned slightly pink.</p><p>Anne hummed happily to herself, "...cute."</p><p>"Huh?"</p><p><em>"...you",</em> she replied with a grin<em>, "...cute."</em></p><p>There it was again, his ears turning a slightly darker shade of pink and her smile widened. With the stranger distracted, she pushed past him and stepped into the apartment, hearing him curse behind her. Her nose wrinkled at the lack of color in his space, everything was so plain and practical, as if he worked as a lawyer or something equally boring. It was a space that provided no scope for the imagination, her feet instantly prodding along the wooden floor as she explored her surroundings. And <em>alas</em> - no frog shaped biscuit tin.</p><p>"I think you're right..." she gasped dramatically, a pout forming on her lips, "...this is <em>not</em> my apartment! U-Unless you had time to redecorate after you broke in!"</p><p>He couldn't help but chuckle as he watched her twirl around, "...No redecorating, I promise."</p><p>Anne stumbled over to the lamp in the corner of the room, her face instantly shining as she flicked the nearby switch - <em>"Light!",</em> she exclaimed with a spout of laughter, staring at the warm light bulb as if it was brighter than the sun. He was quickly losing his frustration, unable to be anything other than amused at the child-like drunk in front of him, who soon turned to him with raised eyebrows, "...I can redecorate for you! It's so...<em>dull."</em></p><p>He snorted at her complaint, "Dull?"</p><p><em>"Really dull!"</em> she confessed, shrugging at him, "...hardly the right decor for someone that looks like a prince."</p><p>His ears were full on burning red now, warm to the touch, "...you think I look like a prince?"</p><p>She pointed down to his legs with a giggle, "I'm sure you would if you took off those pajamas, hardly fit for royalty. But you have pretty eyes. I'm trying to work out what color they are."</p><p>He rubbed his jaw, leaning against the door frame, "They're hazel."</p><p>"Hazel...so brown, green <em>and </em>grey!" she tested out, tasting the words on her tongue but she hummed happily and smiled brightly at him. "I think they are glorious, enchanting, wondrous, magical, dazzling, sublime, iridescent, they coruscate!"</p><p>"Look, can I look at your phone and maybe call one of your friends to-"</p><p>It was dangerous to look away from her for even a second, he realized miserably as she soon took off, disappearing around the corner of his wall. He placed her bag down on his kitchen counter with worry, trying his best to follow her - eyes immediately widening as she found his bedroom. Just when he didn't think anything could get worse - she jumped head-first into his double bed, burying her face in his pillow.  </p><p><em>"Wait ,</em> I-I don't think-"</p><p>As soon as her head hit the comfy sheets, Anne realized just how sleepy she was. She shifted her stomach around experimentally but when it didn't roll with nausea, her body sank into the soft bed and she curled into the blankets around her. It was different from her own bed in her own apartment, but the blankets were warm and they smelled like pine needles so she couldn't help but smile as she let herself float away. Within seconds, her breathing had evened out and the alcohol inside her stomach sent her off into a deep slumber, like falling asleep in bath water.</p><p>Gilbert Blythe was not prepared for his evening to take such an <em>interesting</em> turn. He practically collapsed into bed himself after a long, grueling twelve hour shift, throwing on whatever pajamas he could find in the dark before letting himself sink into the blank-nothingness of sleep. It was not what he was expecting, not after his neighbors had been quiet for the past week since he moved in and although he had barely introduced himself to any of them, he certainly wasn't expecting the person on the other side of the door. His frustration quickly turned to confusion when the redhead started yelling at him with her own bright spark, shooting her big words at him like she was sending fireworks up into the sky. He wanted to be irritated by his rude wake-up call, but she had a fire in her eyes that dared him to smile in amusement, maybe even to laugh, just to see what she would do. Despite her alcohol-induced clumsiness, she walked around the world like it was her own, fists clenched and head held up high. She stared at him and was not ashamed, in fact she started to grin at him as if daring him to complain, but he could never imagine himself complaining about something like <em>that</em>. It was strange to now see her looking so vulnerable, so <em>small</em>. This woman that seemed larger than life, she was curled up on his bed covers, her hands gripping onto one of his blankets and holding it close to her nose. He wasn't particularly sure where it came from, but there was a voice inside of his heart, whispering through his chest like an off-pitch hum, telling him to <em>take care of her.  </em></p><p>He let out a forlorn sigh, swallowing down the part of him that felt like a creep for having an innocent, drunk, lost woman asleep in his bed - reminding himself that she put him in this situation, <em>she </em>pounded on <em>his</em> door. His hands hesitantly reached down to the bottom of her legs, carefully unlacing her black boots and pulling them off her small feet. Her toes wriggled through the thin material of her tights, searching for a source of warmth and settling to press against the softness of his bed sheets. Next, he pulled his spare blanket over her, tucking it tightly around her shoulders so that she would stay warm through the cold night.</p><p><strong><em>What the hell are you going to do now?</em></strong> he questioned himself.</p><p>Gilbert didn't even know her name, but he had an inkling that she would soon become one of the most interesting people that he had ever met. There was something about her big words, words that he would have to look up in the dictionary, and he could tell that she saw the world in a way that others didn't. She glided around as if she had wings but chose not to fly, looking at the moon as if she could reach up and pull it away from the stars, tucking it into her back pocket for luck. Whoever she was, she had a certain <em>intensity</em> about her, unnerving but not entirely unpleasant. But sleeping in his bed, she curled inwards on herself as she was trying to turn herself inside out, extract herself from the world around her until she could find somewhere safe. Maybe she had found his bed to be safe, her lips parted to let small content breaths out, her shape under the blanket rising and falling to the rhythm of her breathing. She reminded him of a woodland creature taking a nap in the woods, allowing itself to rest before it continued to forage for berries and nuts, because he got the feeling that once she woke, she would be off, buzzing around him, spinning him around in dizzy circles. Some part of him was willing to let her. He couldn't count her freckles in the darkness of his bedroom, but she had a lot of them sprinkled across her forehead and down the bridge of her nose, and he wanted to connect the dots. Even in the dim glow of the moon, her fiery hair glistened as if it was a waterfall of fire, soaking up and keeping the light for itself. In the sanctuary of his cozy room, she almost looked delicate. In his half-asleep state he wondered if she was a pixie that he had found in the woods, sleeping among the trees because she looked as if she lived within nature herself. But fairies could not burn like scorching flames, they couldn't explode like fizzing fireworks, they couldn't shoot arrows through his mind until his thoughts wouldn't go quiet. In whatever world they lived in, whoever she was, whatever her purpose was in life, he knew that she was<em> more</em> than what she was surrounded herself with. In spirit, in energy, in soul, in heart - <em>she was more.</em></p><p><strong><em>Definitely pretty</em></strong>, he thought to himself, <strong><em>but maybe a little crazy. </em></strong></p><p>...</p><p>There were two things that were pissing Anne off when she woke up the next morning.</p><p>The first, was the pounding headache. As soon as her eyes fluttered open to the brightness of the room, she winced and clutched at her head. She grumbled underneath her breath, wondering how she could ever think that getting drunk would be a good thing. I mean, of course it was fun, and it let her forget her problems for a few hours, but with the way her stomach rolled as she tried to sit up, maybe it wasn't worth it. It was hard to remember whether she had thrown up before she went to sleep, sometimes she did and other times her body waited until morning to surprise her with a wave of sickness. But nonetheless, the headache felt like someone had mistaken her brain for a drum kit.</p><p>The second thing, was quickly realizing that she was <em>not </em>in her own apartment. She was encompassed in an array of dark grey blankets, a duvet that was twice as thick as her own and blank walls with no picture frames. As she looked around, she noticed a small oak desk crowded with papers, books and stationary - almost like her very own work space at home. Whoever's apartment she was in, they were a hard worker, maybe even an over-achiever and she started to feel intimidated as her eyes swept over the mystery space. Despite the clutter and lack of color, there was a certain warmth surrounding her and she would have closed her eyes for a few more hours, maybe even more than a few and let the world spin around her, if not for the one small detail - she was <em>NOT</em> in her room. As she looked down, she realized that she was still in her green dress from the night before, her tights were still on (a good sign) but her shoes were nowhere to be found. Her eyebrows twisted together in confusion and she was tempted to crawl around on her hands and knees until she figured out where her shoes were, so that she could run the hell out of there.</p><p><strong><em>"Oh</em></strong><em> - uh,</em> <em>good morning."</em></p><p>It was in that moment, that Anne found the <em>third </em>thing that was pissing her off.</p><p>He was right there , leaning against the door frame as if he didn't have a care in the world, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. With a squint of her eyes, she realized that the mug read - <em>world's best uncle! -</em> and she raised her eyebrows. A head of dark curls nodded at her politely, several strands askew and his left leg was crossed over his right. But most importantly, she had no clue who the<em> hell</em> he was and the familiar smile that he was giving her, was really fucking starting to <em>piss her off. </em></p><p>Her mouth dropped open. <em>"How fucking dare you!"</em></p><p>The stranger recoiled back, "Excuse me?"</p><p>"I can't believe this! I-I have seen guys do some pretty shitty things throughout my life - <em>trust me, </em>but I have never had someone take advantage of me in such a way! Is this some kind of fucked up thing you do, bring wasted women home with you because it's the only kind of action that you can get? I have never felt more disgusted and ashamed-"</p><p>"Anne, I-"</p><p>She gasped in horror, "How the fuck do you know my name?"</p><p>The stranger sighed, glancing back at the room he had appeared from, "I found your ID in your purse, I really didn't want to but I had to make sure that you weren't some kind of psychopath and I wanted to know who slept in my-"</p><p><em>"I'm</em> the psychopath?" she snapped, clambering out of his comfy bed and letting her feet meet the hardwood floors, "...you're the one that thinks it's okay to have a one-night stand with a woman that is clearly drunk-"</p><p>He placed his mug down on the nearby desk and held his hands up in surrender, holding them out apprehensively as if taming a wild animal, <em>"I didn't sleep with you!</em> This wasn't a one-night stand, I-I mean, I know how it looks but I would never-"</p><p>"We didn't have sex?" she questioned.</p><p>It took a lot for him to hold in his laughter, "I think I would know."</p><p>Anne narrowed her eyes at him, "Then why was I in your bed? Why am I still in yesterday's clothes and why do you have my purse?!"</p><p>"Look...I swear that I can explain everything, you might not <em>believe me</em> - but I can definitely explain. You were...you were very drunk last night, you were banging on my door at 2am all confused, thinking that it was your apartment and that I broke in...", he tried not to laugh at her horrified expression, "...I tried to find out where you lived or look at your phone but you were out of it and before I knew it, you launched yourself into my bed and fell asleep. I-I didn't know what to do but it was late and I was exhausted so I tucked you into bed, and slept on the sofa. I only checked your ID because I wanted to know your name and to find your address, and as for why you are still in yesterday's dress...", he held his hands up in surrender, raising his eyebrows, "...I didn't think you would want me undressing you!"</p><p>She was frozen, horrified with herself. <em>"Oh."</em></p><p>"Yeah...", he chuckled, <em>"...oh."</em></p><p>"I'm sorry. <em>Oh God, I'm so sorry</em>, I-I'm always a really bad drunk and clearly I couldn't find my own way home properly...but even worse - I end up dragging a complete <em>stranger</em> into my problems and force them to take care of me all night. I-I can't imagine how badly you wanted to kick me out of your house and just let someone pick me up on the side of the road..."</p><p>He grinned, "It made for an..<em>.interesting</em> night."</p><p>Anne gnawed on her lower lip, looking up at him with regret, "I-I...I haven't made you late for work or anything, right?"</p><p>He shook his head, "No, it's my day off. Doctor Ward said that I-"</p><p>"You're a<em> doctor?!"</em></p><p>"Well, a doctor in training-"</p><p>She whacked her forehead and groaned, "Oh fuck, now I'm <em>really </em>sorry. I'm already a mess and I'm sure I was a nightmare to deal with last night, but you are training for a really intense profession - <em>a really admirable profession, of</em> course - and then I go and stir up more trouble. I-I'm sure you struggle getting sleep anyway after long shifts and I-I knock on your door in the middle of night and deprive you of much needed rest. I'm not trying to be rancorous, I assure you but I-"</p><p>There was a fondness in his voice, "You like using big words, don't you?"</p><p>Anne crossed her arms over her chest, "I see nothing wrong with longing to have an extensive vocabulary, particularly for a writer...", she couldn't help feeling defensive, lifting her chin up at him, "...may I grab my things?"</p><p>His smile faded slightly but he caught himself, moving off the door frame, seeing her fly past him within seconds, already moving towards the kitchen, <em>"...of course!",</em> her hands reached for the black bag on his kitchen surface, snatching it up with a new kind of aggression as she wriggled her feet into those black boots, "...I was, uh - making breakfast if you wanted some, you could stay for a bit and-"</p><p>She shook her head, wincing at the pounding in her brain, "It's fine."</p><p>"You want some painkillers?"</p><p>"I can get painkillers from my own apartment..." she muttered, grabbing her keys.</p><p>He held up his hands in surrender.</p><p>As he was distracted by the whistle of the kettle, she took the opportunity to look around at the rest of his apartment (now that she was sober). While she couldn't help being unimpressed by the lack of color and personal touch, it was simple and cozy enough. His kitchen was immaculately clean and in order, various cups and saucers hanging up over the large shiny sink, a silly picture of the periodic table hanging up on the wall. The main living space still had the original brick pattern of the walls from construction, giving an earthy feel to the dark furniture and several maps hanging up on the wall. Anne could tell that although it was simple, there were glimpses of his personality within the apartment : perhaps he longed to travel the world, he was clearly a bookworm judging from the overflowing bookshelf (just like her own), and maybe he was an old soul at heart that just wanted some simplicity among the chaos of the modern world. When he reappeared into the kitchen and sent her a cautious smile at her curious gaze, she found herself wanting to look further and find out more about the stranger with the gentleman-like morals and lopsided smile. But memories of the previous night came in flashes, her twirling around in his dark apartment while he laughed, a snapshot of him opening the door in pajama bottoms and Anne felt heat creep down her neck. The guy standing in front of her (while admittedly beautiful), had most likely seen her puking into his toilet and he had definitely seen her jumping into his bed like she owned the place. She suddenly wished that she had leapt out of his large bedroom window before she started to remember it all.</p><p>But he leapt into action, following her with a confused expression when she strode towards the front door, <em>"...wait!</em> I didn't even give you my name!"</p><p>She felt hot with embarrassment, never wanting to lay eyes on him again, "I don't need it - trust me, I won't come knocking on your door again and I probably won't ever cross paths with you again so I just think I should-"</p><p>His expression turned sheepish, "I wouldn't be so sure about that."</p><p>"Why not?" she frowned as she opened the door, stepping out into the light of the day and trying not to wince. She stumbled out, realizing that she was on the second story of an apartment building, one with old architecture and crumbling bricks around the doors. There were a long line of apartments stretching either side of her, and as she looked at the street across from her, she noticed a second-hand bookstore and a busy crossroad section. It was an ordinary apartment building, each door cream with small golden numbers and small letterboxes that were hardly big enough for greeting cards to fit through. But most importantly, she knew her surroundings, she knew <em>exactly</em> where she was. She turned to him with a tiring groan<em>, "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."</em></p><p><em>"Hi, neighbor!"</em> he grinned, awkwardly waving.</p><p>Anne cursed the heavens above her and stomped over to her own apartment, which was just a measly four steps away from the most annoying presence she had ever encountered. She struggled for a minute to get the key in the lock, opening her door slightly only to see the shadow of another presence directly behind her.</p><p>He whistled and raised his eyebrows, "And here I was thinking that you were joking about the houseplants last night..."</p><p>She protested weakly, "I-I like houseplants!"</p><p>"Were you trying to recreate the Amazon rain forest  or something-"</p><p>Anne slammed the door shut so that he couldn't see further into her apartment, turning around and leaning against it while sending him an exasperated expression, "<em>I have an appreciation for nature!</em> Now, are you going to stop being a smug asshole-"</p><p>"I'm offering to make you breakfast!" he laughed.</p><p>She put her hands on her hips, "Who said I want to stay with you?"</p><p>"You were the one that called me <em>cute</em>-"</p><p><em>"Wait-what?!"</em> she spluttered, self-consciously wrapping her arms around herself, "I-I never said that, besides...I was <em>drunk</em> so my vision was probably impaired-"</p><p><strong><em>Stop lying to yourself,</em></strong> a voice whispered in her mind. <strong><em>He's definitely cute. Hell - he's beautiful. Maybe you should stay for breakfast and-</em></strong></p><p>He leaned against the wall beside her, a mischievous expression on his face as he studied her, "I don't know, you said some pretty <em>interesting </em>things last night-"</p><p>The pounding inside her head seemed to be laughing at her and Anne scowled, straightening up and looking directly into his eyes. "I'm sure."</p><p>"I think you were nicer to me when you were drunk, you know."</p><p>"And I think you're less annoying when I'm drunk."</p><p>His eyes shined, "I'm Gilbert."</p><p>She gritted her teeth, "I didn't ask."</p><p>As she was opening up the door to her apartment once more, his voice smoothed out and lost its teasing edge, "Hey, you were also mumbling in your sleep a lot last night, and before you woke up...something about a <em>dragon?</em> I'm curious."</p><p>She groaned under her breath, "I was probably talking about my asshole editor, he looks like a dragon and for some reason he thinks that forcing me to rewrite my entire manuscript is an acceptable <em>note</em>. If I'm honest I think he just hates me because I'm a woman and I don't fight to get his attention like his assistant, she's younger than me, you know! He's <em>ancient</em>, pretty much a pensioner and all he does is rant on about how pointless feminism is and how my ideas will never amount to anything worth publishing - <em>I'm sorry...I'm rambling."</em></p><p>Gilbert raised an eyebrow, "Sounds like quite the dragon to slay."</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>He shrugged, "You could always fire him, you know. Takes a lot less energy than using a dagger or anything like that. It would stop him from holding you back."</p><p>She sighed, "It's complicated."</p><p>"Well, if you need any dragons slaying - I'd be glad to help."</p><p>"I'm just fine slaying dragons by myself, thank you."</p><p>He grinned. <em>"I don't doubt that."</em></p><p>As they stood outside of her apartment, something in the air shifted. They hadn't realized it yet and maybe they wouldn't for a while, but there something pulling them together, as if the universe had tied an elastic band around them, just waiting for things to jolt into place. And the longer that they fought that connection, they would just be stretching the band further and speeding up the process of it snapping back in their faces. Both determined, both wanting to fix the world around them, both spirits of fire - maybe one more flammable than the other. Gilbert wasn't sure what brought the woman with red hair to his doorstep, a woman with liqueur in her veins and ice in her heart. It was a cloudy morning but as he looked up to the sky above them, all he saw was possibility.</p><p><em>"I'll be wondering when I'll bump you again",</em> he told her, eyes brighter than ever before, cheeky grin slotting itself into her heart, <em>"...in fact, I'm sort of looking forward to it."</em></p><p>Anne felt embarrassment creeping down her neck, a bright redness covering her cheeks and before he could tease her - she slammed the door right in his face.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. once a mistake, twice a bad habit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>in which anne makes a similar mistake again and contemplates why she finds gilbert so frustrating</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Battleship</em> was his father's favorite board game. They started playing it together as soon as Gilbert was tall enough to reach up to the top shelf, sticking his tongue out in concentration as he grabbed the blue box. It took him a lot of practice to get the hang of it, his bottom lip pouting as his father sunk his ships over and over again, patting his young son on the back with words of encouragement, promising that he would win next time. Well, Gilbert was never one to just <em>give up</em>. He found himself winning every game as he grew older, cheering in victory as his father laughed at his antics, leaning back in his armchair with a proud look in his eyes. But all games eventually come to an end and as the snow melted away from the sidewalk, John Blythe grew weaker and paler with every passing day. Soon he couldn't lift himself up from the bed and Gilbert stayed home from school to take care of him, buying groceries and teaching himself how to iron his own shirts. There was a distant clock in the back of his mind,  a cruel game of countdown, echoing through the walls as Gilbert sat and watched his father run out of time.</p><p>One morning his father wiped away a betraying tear from his teenage son's cheek, just before he croakily asked for a rematch of their favorite game. Maybe it was the light that was flickering in his father's hazel eyes - so much like his own, or maybe he just wanted to pretend for a little while longer. But as he wiped the dust off the box, he realized that how long it had been since he heard his father laugh. That afternoon, he couldn't stop himself from subtly moving his ships whenever his father called out a guess on his grid, pretending to groan as he bellowed - <em>"you sunk my ship!" </em>Gilbert had not lost a game since he was eight years old, but seeing his father shakily raise his arms above his head, letting out a weak victory cheer, it made him feel like he was holding a golden trophy in his own hands. A few days later, he lost his <em>Battleship</em> partner. He soon lost his fondness for games, but his playful niece tugged on his sleeve one stormy afternoon, begging him to play with her. The sting in his heart took him by surprise when she pointed to the forgotten box at the top of the shelf, but Delphine looked so hopeful that he grinned and started to teach her how to play.</p><p>He wouldn't let his niece see the tears stinging at the corner of his eyes, or confess that his heart had been bruised for a long time. It was a heart that knew loss, tucked away in his chest with a tear right down the middle - a heart that had lost its <em>first best friend. </em></p><p>He let her win the game on her first try, her excited cheer making him chuckle, his father's own weak laugh still echoing through the walls. Gilbert just wanted to make things better for everyone around him, only hoping that she would not lose her opponent at such a young age. If he could promise anything for her, he would make sure that she wasn't left alone to fend for herself like he once was.</p><p>"Gilbert?"</p><p>A gentle hand shook his shoulder and Gilbert bolted upright, eyes adjusting to the bright room around him. He was in the break room at the hospital and must have fallen asleep at one of the small rounded tables, his curls sticking up wildly.</p><p>"Hmm-what?"</p><p>His colleague James patted his back twice before wandering over to the coffee machine in the corner, still in his scrubs, "Your shift ended ten minutes ago."</p><p> </p><p>He rubbed his eyes tiredly, sighing, "Oh...t-thanks."</p><p>As he glanced at his watch and saw the digital numbers <strong>12:42</strong> blinking back at him, he noticed how late it was and it didn't take much time until his brain wandered to a few weeks prior, remembering the woman at his door with fiery hair and an equally flammable personality. He stood up to grab his coat, unable to stop the amused smile from creeping across his lips, wondering if he would ever see her again.</p><p>"You okay?" James asked as he screwed the lid on top of his flask, leaning against the counter top, "...you seem a little distracted tonight."</p><p>
  <em>"I guess you could say that."</em>
</p><p>Gilbert liked logic. He liked crafting his study plan down to the last detail, following his quick-thinking brain, keeping his head down. He liked using his lunch break to research further, sticking his nose into a book when he couldn't sleep at night with the noise of the city around him. He wasn't built for someone that would challenge the world around them with an uncontainable passion and eccentric ideas. He was made to walk in a straight line, not to spin around in circles or lift up into the sky with a soul that could sprout wings. He didn't want to be distracted, but he <em>was</em>. Over the past few weeks he had been so <em>easily </em>distracted, turning his head to look in every direction, constantly looking over his shoulder as if she would peek out of the shadows in a game of hide and seek. When he emptied his trash in the bins behind the apartment building, he could not pretend that his eyes were not wandering for a certain flash of auburn, as if he was searching for a fox tail in the middle of a winter woodland. He was just curious, that's all. Anne was certainly good at hiding, ducking out of her own apartment before he could catch her, nowhere to be found since the day that she slammed her door in his face. It wounded a pride a little, to know that someone was in such a hurry to get away from him and he couldn't understand <em>why</em>. It was not as if he had been watching from his peep hole like a creep or anything like that (<em>okay</em>, maybe he glanced out of it twice), but she found a way of sneaking around him and making sure that her wish of them never bumping into each other came true. He couldn't pretend that he wasn't a little bit disappointed (<em>okay</em>, maybe <em>more</em> than a little).</p><p>She was more complex than any of the puzzles that he used to solve with his father. In fact, he wasn't sure if this push and pull, forwards and backwards - was a losing game from the start.</p><p>But how could he help himself?</p><p>How could he hold himself back when she walked around the world at her own pace, taking her time as if she was stopping to smell the roses with every step?</p><p>When she struck him down on the spot with her words, speaking with such conviction as if she wouldn't dare to waste a single breath - how could he pretend that he didn't want, more than anything, to <em>really know</em> her?</p><p>For his thoughts had been occupied that day, alright. But they were not filled with his usual medical facts or general knowledge as if someone was seconds away from quizzing him on a television show - they were filled with something so <em>alive</em>. A girl with a delicate face that could twist into the deepest frown like the petals of a soft flower shaking off the heavy snow. And hair filled with the essence autumn, withholding every shade of amber and crimson that he wanted to keep for himself during the months of October and November, loose curls that rose and fell like the rhythm of her chest while she slept. But it was her eyes that he could not shake, piercing blue eyes that not only pierced through his own - but right though his heart. Part of him was afraid that if he came face to face with those eyes again, he would not have the willpower to stop himself from blurting out nonsense about oceans, how her eyes contained the shades of both the Atlantic and the Pacific. God knows what he would say if he would see her again, what he would <em>confess</em>!</p><p>The thoughts followed him on the short walk home and he begged himself to snap out of it. He tried to tell himself that the universe was trying to shift his focus onto something worthwhile, something<em> attainable</em>, that the leaves rustling in the wind were shaking his shoulders to get his attention.</p><p>But when he made it to his apartment, the redhead taking up his thoughts was directly in front of his door, sitting there on the floor.</p><p>
  <em>"Anne?"</em>
</p><p>...</p><p>Anne was not particularly sure how she ended up sitting at his doorstep, dried blood sticking to her hair, humming underneath her breath. All she could remember was promising herself that she wouldn't have more than one drink (what an easy promise that was to break), telling Diana and Cole that they needed to celebrate. Maybe she knew it was a disaster from the beginning, especially when she let Diana dress her in a camisole that was technically classed as <em>lingerie</em>, compromising to wear a denim jacket over the top which definitely disappeared after the third round of shots. But she felt so triumphant and an innocent evening out had turned into yet another embarrassing tale. Bash had regretfully forced them to leave the bar after Anne found her way to the DJ booth and kept turning the music up until people started to complain that their ears were bleeding. She had argued that listening to<em> Arctic Monkeys </em>could never make your ears bleed, but Bash was already ordering them all an uber home by that point. It ended up just being another example of why Anne Shirley-Cuthbert should <em>not </em>be allowed anywhere near cheap vodka shots.</p><p>She was in the middle of looking down at her feet, noticing that one of her socks had a hole in them as she wriggled her small toes - when his familiar voice called her name.</p><p>
  <em>"Anne?"</em>
</p><p>A grin melted across her face and she sheepishly waved at the figure approaching her. He just looked so sleepy, and <em>so concerned</em> that the raging fire within her heart couldn't help softening into cool running water.</p><p>
  <em>"Hi."</em>
</p><p>"You're..." he blinked, unable to smooth the hopeful edge in his voice, "...<em>you're back</em>. I mean, <em>you're here."</em></p><p>She nodded enthusiastically, "I am."</p><p>"You're...sitting on my doorstep."</p><p>Her eyebrows furrowed with uncertainty, "I am?"</p><p>Just like that, his wide eyes softened and he lowered himself down, holding out his hands for help as she tried to stand up. She grasped onto his forearms for support and he steadied her for a moment, watching as she brushed off her clothing. He didn't even realize that he was smiling at her dopey expression, one that was slightly dazed but not filled with hostility. She just looked so <em>cute</em> but she was barely wearing a shirt, thin straps offering every inch of her pale skin dotted with freckles. Her collarbones were sharp, standing out just above her cleavage and his cheeks suddenly felt warm in the cold evening.</p><p>"Gilbert."</p><p>He was taken aback, "...I didn't think you would remember my name."</p><p>She tilted her head, "Why wouldn't I?"</p><p>"You were more interested in yelling at me last time I saw you."</p><p>As she stuck her lower lip out in a pout, Gilbert's eyes quickly caught onto the graze at the top of her forehead, a swollen lump laying just below her hairline, still coated in dregs of dried blood. He lifted his hand without thinking and ran his thumb over the spot, wincing slightly as he scanned the area. "<em>Hey</em>...what happened? It looks like you hit your head."</p><p>Her eyes widened with child-like wonder, "That street light comes out of nowhere on e-every night out! I'm walking along and then - <em>BOOM!"</em></p><p> Gilbert sighed, giving her a semi-stern look, "It looks like you forgot to protect your pretty little face this time."</p><p>She rubbed her forehead tiredly.</p><p>"Well, let me help you get back into your apartment - now that I know exactly where it is!", he reached for the bag that she had left on the ground, raising his eyebrows for her approval to look through it, "...are your keys in here?"</p><p>Anne's smile turned sheepish, "No."</p><p>"What do you mean? Where are they?"</p><p>"Gone."</p><p>He sighed, trying to catch her gaze that was focused on the ceiling above them, "...No, I mean...gone <em>where?"</em></p><p>She bit her lip, hiding a guilty expression, "Sometimes Diana keeps them...in...in her bag, j-just in case I end up losing them. I-I tell her not to, I'm really responsible! I used to babysit, that's how responsible...I-I am! I just think babies are so <em>cute</em> and I can't wait to have them one day, don't you think they're cute?"</p><p>Gilbert tried to focus, "Anne, did Diana go home?"</p><p>A nod confirmed his suspicions and he cursed softly under his breath, biting his lip as he looked between his own apartment door and the intoxicated woman in front of him. She was still humming underneath her breath, bouncing her knees and he started to worry if she had been waiting in the cold for longer than he thought. After a moment she seemed to notice his conundrum and gasped with excitement, <em>"Are we going to have a sleepover?!"</em></p><p> His lips parted, unsure, "I-I don't-"</p><p>"Oh, can we have a sleepover...<em>please?</em> I-I promise I'll be good and I'll abide by my bedtime...not that I have one, but we could even do tops and tails in your bed!", her bold suggestion made his eyebrows raise with amusement, "...I'm really good at p-pillow fights!"</p><p>He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, "I-I...are you sure that you don't have a spare key? I leave mine underneath my welcome mat, just like-"</p><p>"<em>No!</em> I wouldn't want someone to <em>break in!"</em> she giggled.</p><p>It made his stomach turn in a strange way and he couldn't tell if he imagined the knowing smile that she sent him, perhaps sharing the same thought of the night they met - a night that he would surely never forget. He gave up with a conflicted sigh, unlocking his door and holding it open for her as she stumbled past him, carrying her shoes in her hands. While she made her way into his kitchen, he mumbled a prayer for himself, knowing that she would certainly have a very <em>stern</em> word with him in the morning when sober. Something nudged him from within as he noticed how <em>comfortable </em>she looked, smiling and running her fingers across every surface as if the place was her own. She looked like she could be at peace with him - <em>at his apartment</em>  and it took him a moment to remember the dried blood on her forehead that needed sorting. He switched his doctor brain on and begged himself to somehow stay focused.</p><p>"Alright, stay still for a minute", he instructed her gently, making his way over to the medicine cabinet in his kitchen, "...I need to take care of your head quickly. It will only take a moment and then you need to sleep it off."</p><p>When he turned around with the med kit, Anne had hopped up onto one of his counters, swinging her long legs in front of her. She was waiting patiently for him, hands clasped on her lap as if she was in school and she stuck her tongue out at him as he held up the kit. He set it down on the counter beside her and blew out a heavy breath, stepping closer so that he could inspect the bump on her head. She continued to hum happily as he grabbed a damp cloth, wiping away the dry blood that had collected around the tender spot, reaching for the disinfectant bottle cautiously. Her wince was almost missed as the cotton pad cleared anyway any chance at infection, cleaning the area so that he could see the small graze that had formed over the lump. He tried to focus on making sure that he had cleaned the wound properly, recounting back to his first days of training where he discovered how many measures had to be taken for such a small surface area, and how dire the consequences could be. But it was proving <em>exceedingly</em> difficult to concentrate when her warm breath was fluttering against his cheek as he leaned in for a closer look, when her small feet knocked against his thighs as she swung her legs, when she was wearing <em>so little</em>. With another quick glance he realized that the thin black material covering her was lace and<em> fuck</em> - he definitely couldn't concentrate after that. She just looked so small and slight with that belt wrapped snugly around her black jeans and he had to lean back and turn his attention to the med kit so that he wouldn't <em>do</em> or<em> say</em> anything that he would quickly regret.</p><p>"Pretty."</p><p>Her voice took him by surprise, "W-What?"</p><p>Anne grinned coyly at him, freckles dancing in the warm light of his kitchen, "You...You called me pretty earlier."</p><p>He quickly looked back down at the med kit, grabbing the packet of plasters that he had left over, <em>"Yeah", </em>he breathed.</p><p>She smiled triumphantly and nodded to herself before turning her attention back to the plaster in his hands. It was purple with a pink butterfly on it, just big enough to cover the bump on her head and she couldn't help but giggle at his embarrassed expression. He smoothed it down over her skin and mumbled sheepishly, "...I have to look after my niece sometimes...she only likes the butterfly ones."</p><p>"I...I-I bet you're a good uncle."</p><p>The corner of his lips tilted up, "Yeah?"</p><p>She smiled sweetly at him, rubbing a finger over the butterfly plaster on her forehead , "You're good at taking care of people."</p><p>Gilbert huffed a small laugh to himself.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>He shook his head, "You're going to <em>hate me</em> in the morning."</p><p>Anne looked at him for a moment with that same pout, tilting her head in confusion and he was left in awe of how someone could be that <em>cute</em>, knowing that after the sun rose she would be glaring at him with the heat of a thousand burning embers. <em>It was nice,</em> he admitted to himself in the quiet solitude of his mind, looking after someone that despised it so much, someone that believed that they could conquer the world on their own. He would never want to hold anyone back, but he couldn't help the warm feeling that rose up inside him, hoping that she would rely on him - just a little. It was a strange world, one filled with as much darkness as the light that beamed down from the sun's rays and he couldn't fight his one instinct to protect the redhead with freckles on her nose.</p><p>She yawned suddenly, stretching her arms above her head before looking at him expectantly. When he didn't move straight away, she tugged on his shirt, "Can you help me get down? It's a...a big drop."</p><p>One second later his hands hesitantly found place on her hips, right below the belt loops brushing against his fingers and he wanted to whine - <em>God, help me</em>. The rough material of her black jeans was so warm and tight against her skin and he was begging his mind to <em>stop noticing</em>. A part of him wished that there was a great big <strong>DANGER</strong> sign above her head, pointing to her and warning hopeless souls to stay away from her before she fell into their hearts with a simple smile. She was soon deposited on the floor in front of him and Gilbert almost sighed with relief, wanting nothing more than to put some distance between them before he snatched her up in his arms and kept her there. His brain had just started working at a speed that was <em>almost </em>normal - when Anne reached stepped up on her toes and brushed the softest of kisses against his cheek, almost at the corner of his mouth. After <em>that </em>- he was sure that his mind had spun into madness. It <em>imploded -</em> obliterating every thought in its wake - leaving his nerves weak enough that a small breeze could knock him to his knees. Gilbert couldn't remember his middle name. He couldn't remember the name of his pet fish that he had almost killed twice (by forgetting to feed it). He couldn't remember the chemical formula of glucose.</p><p>"I'm tired..." she eventually mumbled, sliding past him to the bedroom, somehow remembering the route to his bedroom. As she slipped through the door and left him in peace, Gilbert was left taking deep breaths, trying to remember everything that he had learnt in his five years of medical experience.</p><p>
  <strong>John</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Rodger</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>C<sub>6</sub>H<sub>12</sub>O<sub>6</sub></strong>
</p><p>Once he had mumbled the answers to himself and felt confident enough that his brain had not turned entirely into mush - he followed her through to his bedroom, just to check that she had fallen into his bed and not face-planted the floor.</p><p>Her legs were already curled into his duvet, long hair spread across his pillows. It sent a thrill down his spine to even notice that - they were <em>his </em>pillows. She was in <em>his</em> bed. This small woman that somehow encompassed everything that was meaningful in this world, everything that was worth looking<em> further</em> - reminding him of an angel set on fire. As he found himself comparing her to the universe, he allowed himself to wonder ( just a little), if maybe she had found her way to him on purpose. It was a strange thought ; that something had been set in the stars for him, the planets aligning, coinciding with time and fate to make sure that this woman turned up at his doorstep - but it was a thought that sent hope blazing through his chest. He told himself that there was no hope in doing just that -<em> wondering</em> - but perhaps deep down he already knew it was too late, that no matter how many times she turned up at his doorstep with her incoherent sentences and alcohol-tainted breath, he wouldn't stop wanting to <em>know</em> her. To know everything about her ; not just the mundane things like her hopes and fears, but every single detail and freckle that added up to everything that she was, because maybe that would explain how she was so much <em>more</em> than the world around them. It simply seemed as though she was created for something much bigger than their universe could currently comprehend.</p><p>But for now, he watched her with a tenderness in his eyes that would not leave. She breathed in his pillow and hummed contently, <em>"...pine needles."</em></p><p>"Huh?"</p><p>Anne didn't answer him, burrowing further into the sheets, "...hmm...<em>warm."</em></p><p>"I'll get you some water, try to drink some before-"</p><p>Her gentle mumble interrupted him, his ears straining to hear her jumbled sentences, <em>"...slay...dragon s-slayer."</em></p><p>Gilbert quickly made his way to the kitchen, filling up a glass of water which she would need to drink to try and soothe her hangover (not that it would make much difference). But as he pushed the bedroom door open further, her breathing had turned deep and she didn't even stir as he rubbed her bare shoulder. He winced, cautiously placing the water on top of the stack of books beside his bed, covering her up with the same blanket as last time. It was only the second time that she had slept in his bed, but there was a calm and familiar nature there already, and he wondered if he would even be surprised if he woke up in the morning to see her sleeping beside him. Forcing the thoughts out of his head, he checked over her once more, biting his lip at how uncomfortable she must have been in her tight jeans (knowing that he would not <em>dare</em> try to fix that). The long strands of her hair were covering her face but he could still see the hint of a relaxed smile on her lips.</p><p>He settled for tucking a lock behind her ear, his fingers brushing her freckled skin for a moment, <em>"...maybe one day you'll actually tell me your last name."</em></p><p>...</p><p>Anne woke up to a complicated situation, finding the common feeling of nausea swirling inside her stomach, her head pounding away to an uncomfortable rhythm, eyes noticing the dark room around her. She was curled up inside a warm bed with a soft blanket tucked over her body, a glass of water waiting on top of a pile of books for her. Her head smacked back down on the pillow with a muffled groan, knowing that although it was a very complicated situation - it was unfortunately, a very <em>familiar </em>situation.</p><p><strong><em>Anne Shirley-Cuthbert</em></strong>, she hissed to herself, <strong><em>why are you such a fucking idiot?</em></strong></p><p>Because she was not in an ordinary apartment - she was in <em>Gilbert's </em>apartment. The exact person that she had been trying to avoid for weeks, burying herself in her writing so that she could prove her asshole editor wrong and simultaneously save herself from further humiliation. She promised herself that she would never do that again, that she would never bother a stranger again (<strong><em>not a total stranger</em></strong>, her mind teased mercilessly), but <em>of course</em> she was too much of a mess to fulfill her own promise. If she didn't feel like death, Anne would gladly punch herself in the face. How could she - How could she be so thoughtless and turn up - <em>yet again</em> - on her poor neighbor's doorstep, drunk out of her mind? Judging by the glass of water by her side and the pair of shoes waiting on the floor, he had taken care of her like a decent person - <em>yet again</em> - and let her take up space in his own bed while being left with the couch. It was in that moment that Anne wished she had paid more attention in school, maybe even learnt another language, so that she would know more curse words than the ones she was currently yelling in her mind. With one more glance at the big window, she found herself<em> seriously</em> <em>considering</em> the idea of jumping out head-first.</p><p>"Uh...<em>morning?"</em></p><p>His voice was more hesitant this time, and she could hardly blame him based on their last interaction. As she directed her gaze to the doorway, it instantly fell to the cup of coffee in his hands and how instead of taking a sip this time, he held it out for her to take. Anne didn't trust herself to speak because she was afraid that it would be something along the lines of - <strong><em>fuck, fuck, fuck, what the fuck, fucking hell, for fucks sake</em></strong> - so she wordlessly took the cup of coffee from him and sent him a grateful smile. The first sip cleared her mind slightly and she let out a deep sigh, the other hand raising to her forehead so that she could try to cover some of the shame that she felt. She could not even imagine how terrible she looked and he was still looking at her with that amused (and maybe slightly tender) expression that made her want to punch him a few weeks ago.</p><p>"You're not going to accuse me of sleeping with you this time, right?"</p><p>She winced, "That was not one of my finest moments."</p><p>Gilbert was suddenly regretful that he left his own coffee in the kitchen because he had nothing to hide his dopey smile behind. "I'm not sure what my first thought would be if I woke up in that situation...so I don't really blame you."</p><p><em>"No"</em> Anne shook her head, swallowing down her pride for a moment, "...it was an overreaction and it wasn't fair to you, especially as you spent some of your night taking care of a complete stranger. A stranger that turned out to be your mess of a next door neighbor, so really...<em>I-I'm sorry."</em></p><p>He couldn't resist, "I'm guessing you don't say those words very often."</p><p>Her glare returned, "<em>Don't push it...</em>", after he held his hands up in mock surrender, she continued to rub the sleep out of her eyes and attempted to give him the apology that he deserved, "...It's just...I'm cranky in the morning, <em>okay?</em> I'm definitely not a morning person, I'm more of a <em>stay up until 2am</em> kind of person and when I drink, my hangover just makes everything worse. So that's partly why I went all...<em>angry hulk</em> on you. And I know it might not seem like it, but I really do appreciate you putting up with this not only once, but twice now. I-I'm really not sure why I seem to have started this bad habit of coming here wasted, but I'll do everything in my power to make sure that it doesn't happen again. I already feel humiliated and while sometimes you can seem appear supercilious, I-"</p><p><em>"Anne"</em> he started to laugh, holding up a hand to cut her off, "...it's really okay."</p><p>She hesitated, "R-Really?"</p><p><em>"...really",</em> he assured her but the corner of his lips twisted upwards, "...it's just...<em>you know,</em> if you wanted a date or something, you can always just <em>ask.</em> You don't have to turn up onto my doorstep drunk."</p><p>Anne's glare returned but it was less harsh this time and she found herself taking another sip of her coffee so that she didn't laugh too.</p><p>"Can I ask you a question?" he crossed his arms over his chest.</p><p>She sent him a pointed look, "If it's just another stupid remark about a date-"</p><p>"It's not, I promise...", she relented and sent him a nod of permission to continue, "...it's just, last night...you said something about a dragon slayer before you fell asleep. I was curious about your still apparent obsession with dragons."</p><p>Anne bit her lip, <em>"I fired my editor yesterday."</em></p><p>The words didn't sink in for a while but when they did, Gilbert's eyes widened comically and he felt the sudden need to explain himself, "...I-I...Anne, I was <em>joking</em> about doing that!"</p><p>But as she thought back to the events of the previous day, it didn't seem like a joking matter. She had marched into his office feeling triumphant, placing the completed manuscript down on his desk, ready to tell him all about her new and improved idea of Princess Cordelia being a witch with the ability to control minds - but he had cut her off barely a minute into the meeting. As he proceeded to insult her fantasies and remind her <em>- yet again</em> - how she would never succeed with such ideas and how it had been a mistake from the beginning to create that contract, Anne found herself realizing what a mistake it truly was. Her hands curled into fists and before she could stop herself, she stood up from one of his uncomfortable chairs and proceeded to tell him that he was her inspiration for the illustrations of several dragons, that the only female attention he got was from his desperate assistant (who was definitely underage), and she also said something along the lines of - <em><b>you and your stupid mustache can shove that contract up your ass!</b></em></p><p>His face turned exceedingly red after that, the darkness in his eyes growing until she was in the eye of a storm in the middle of his office. But before he could waste another second of the rest of her life, she kicked his bin over and stormed out of the room. When she met Diana and Cole that evening, she told them the cause for celebration and after that she could hardly resist when they cheered for her and offered to buy her another round of shots. It helped to squash down the impending worry of what she would do next, and instead she channeled her energy into thinking up <em>creative </em>insults to later post on his website anonymously. And honestly, she spent the rest of the evening feeling like she was <em>flying.</em></p><p>She shook her head and sent him an honest smile, "I really should have done it a long time ago...and you were right."</p><p>He raised an eyebrow.</p><p>Anne thought back to his pointed nose and felt proud of herself for the first time in a long time, <em>"It did feel like slaying a dragon."</em></p><p>"I think you're very brave" he told her.</p><p>Gilbert's hazel eyes were locked on hers, watching, maybe even waiting patiently for her to smile back at him and she got the sense that he would be there for a while - <em>waiting</em>. There was something familiar about him and she couldn't shake the feeling that he would always expect more than she could give, knowing he thought of her as brave when in reality he was the one that gave her the courage. Her own smile was sad as she ignored the pounding of her heart, <em>"...not always."</em></p><p>His smile slipped for a minute with concern but he couldn't stop the words from slipping out, "Do you want to go somewhere?", at her blank expression he continued on hesitantly, "...m-maybe grab breakfast?"</p><p>She could feel the breath being snatched away from her as if he had soccer punched her in the gut, "I...uh - <em>no."</em></p><p>He couldn't hide his frown this time, <em>"...oh."</em></p><p>Anne got up from the bed hastily, mentally cursing at the outfit that she had agreed to, pushing the half-empty cup of coffee into his hands. "I-uh, it's just that...I should go and get my keys back from Diana. She usually takes them when we have a night out and-"</p><p>"I know..." his voice was soft, regretful, and she started to panic at what else she might have said to him, "...your bag is-"</p><p><em>"...in the kitchen"</em> she finished, sending him a knowing glance.</p><p>He nodded, smile straightening into an awkward line, "I'll get your shoes."</p><p>There was something domestic about the entire exchange as he passed over her belongings, asking how the bump on her head felt one last time as she checked over her appearance in the nearby mirror. Her hair was a mess, her complexion slightly green and one of her socks had a hole in them - but he still sent her that tender smile as he passed over her shoes. She practically stumbled out of his apartment as quickly as she could with a mumbled <em>thank you</em>, looking back one last time to see him still watching from the window, waving in the hopes that it could distract from the blatant disappointment on his face.</p><p>...</p><p>
  <strong>"Again?!"</strong>
</p><p>Anne ducked down in the booth, groaning into her hands and hissing at her best friend, <em>"...can you not speak so loud!"</em></p><p>Diana couldn't stop herself from bursting into spouts of laughter, tilting her head back so that everyone in the diner could hear them. She ignored the prominent glares of her best friend and kept laughing, "Oh, come on! Would you lighten up?"</p><p>"It's <em>not </em>funny!" Anne hissed. "I felt like I was doing the walk of shame or something..."</p><p>
  <em>"It's hilarious!"</em>
</p><p>She grumbled under her breath and took another long sip from her iced coffee, wincing at the strength of the extra shots of caffeine that were definitely needed.</p><p>"And you just ran out of his apartment?!" Diana exclaimed, smacking a hand over her head at her friend's stupidity.</p><p>She received a glare. "I did not <em>run</em>-"</p><p>Diana rolled her eyes, "You made it sound as if you were in a pretty big hurry..." she shook her head, taking a sip of her green tea, "...I don't know why you would be! From what you described he is definitely<em> cute</em> and he is totally in love with you so-"</p><p><em>"H-He is not in love with me!"</em> Anne spluttered, "...he doesn't even know me!"</p><p>"You can't tell me it isn't strange, Anne..." she raised her eyebrows, "...I mean drunkenly pounding on your new next-door neighbor's door by mistake is a perfectly weird coincidence. But <em>twice?"</em></p><p>Anne started pushing her eggs around her plate, tucking a piece of stray hair behind her ear nervously, "...I mean, it's clearly just turned into some kind of weird...<em>bad habit</em> or something <em>- right?"</em></p><p>"Would it really <em>so</em> bad if it's something <em>more</em> than that?"</p><p><strong><em>Would it?</em></strong> Anne tried to ask herself.</p><p>She thought of Gilbert's teasing smile and the way that he looked at her, as if he was trying to soak up every detail and commit it to his memory. Sometimes he glanced at her as if not sure if she was real, as if she was a figment of his imagination, a returning apparition that would fade away if he looked in the opposite direction for long enough. She thought of the warmth in his eyes, a kind of warmth that she wasn't used to, the careful edge to his voice when expecting her to argue with him. She thought of his cozy apartment with the dark color palette that somehow felt like home - even though she had always been fond of mixed patterns and bright colors. She thought of the butterfly plaster that he smoothed over her bump, a plaster that she had been annoyingly reluctant to peel off.</p><p><strong><em>No,</em></strong> she scolded her foolish heart, <strong><em>Don't start-</em></strong></p><p>She decided that it was his eyes. It was his <em>stupid eyes</em> that were hazel, withholding the essence of a woodland that could only ever remind her of back home. With one look at the warm brown tones and flicks of green in his eyes, she was running through the trees in Avonlea, trying to catch the beams of light before they disappeared over the hill at sunset. It was the life that she had traded for her career in the city, exchanging tall oak trees and endless oceans for structured buildings and cracks in the pavement. <em>Oh</em>, there were cracks in the earth back in Avonlea. But the city sidewalks could never make her feel as grounded as the dirt paths drying up in summer, and although the paths that she once walked were rough and often led her to somewhere unfamiliar - she still always felt like she was finding her way home. Anne never thought that she could glance into the eyes of a stranger and find something that felt so familiar.</p><p>But then he had to go and <em>tease her</em>, and her brain already felt like it was knocking painfully against her skull, he was just so <em>annoying</em> and <em>sure of himself</em>. And on top of that - he had those warm woodland eyes that reminded her of home and the cozy bed that she didn't want to climb out of and he was asking her to join him for breakfast and before she knew it - she was running away. When she was back home, she would sprint out into the middle of her favorite field and scream at the sky, letting out all of her anger before collapsing back down to the earth, letting her body sink into the damp morning grass. She had to settle for stumbling out of his apartment and desperately dialing her best friend's number. But she was still doing what she did best - <em>running.</em> Maybe that is all Anne knew how to do, maybe she was used to running when her temper spiked, when her heart squeezed with these overwhelming feelings that were ready to burst out of every single pore. She had promised herself that she wouldn't see him again but then she found out his <em>name</em>, then she found herself wanting to look <em>further</em> and then she couldn't stop herself from lying awake that night, thinking of him asleep a wall away. Gilbert that had seen her at her worst. Gilbert that had tended to her forehead bump with a butterfly plaster. Gilbert that had tucked her in bed with his own blanket. Gilbert that made her a cup of coffee. Gilbert that invited her to breakfast. Gilbert that wanted to know her. <em>Gilbert. Gilbert. Gilbert.</em></p><p><strong><em>Dear universe,</em></strong> she begged, <strong><em>please never let me make a fool out of myself in front of him again. </em></strong></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this one was super fun to write, even though I was being fussy and kept rewriting many different parts of it. I am happy with how it came out, hope it made you all smile or laugh or do something other than have a blank face! </p><p>this is dedicated to my online friend, the angel that is Michelle, it was her birthday today and I hope that this makes her smile whenever she reads it because she deserves to be happy and to feel loved every single day, not just on the day she was born. love you, Mich &lt;3</p><p>leave a comment, let me know what you thought and what you think might happen next - </p><p>fun fact : the start of this chapter ended up more depressing than I was aiming for, but oh well! I also had to google the rules of battleship because I could not remember them from my childhood oops</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. what have you got against breakfast?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>more problems ensue with some hefty writers block, burnt toast and a mail-mix up.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>- important note at end - </p><p>thank you all for sticking around, I'm hoping to get this finished in the next couple of weeks but I have only just finished uni for this year and things have been hectic. I cannot wait to finish this ASAP and start many more fanfics and shirbert-related shenanigans. </p><p>thank you all for your love and support - leave a comment if you enjoy :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When she was fourteen-years old, Anne volunteered to make cupcakes for her high school bake sale. She had been so determined to take everything into her own hands, refusing any help from Marilla who was well-acquainted with the kitchen, trudging down to the store to buy her own ingredients. Her adoptive parents were wary of her baking skills, gently suggesting that she follow one of the recipes from their many cook books. Anne stubbornly kept her hands in her mixing bowl with her memory as her only guide, trying to remember watching Marilla baking cupcakes for their neighbors and whether she was adding the correct measurements of flour. She scoffed at the idea of needing help for something as simple as <em>cupcakes</em> - something that she could do with her eyes closed.</p><p>So she continued on, debating inwardly whether the butter was supposed to be room temperature, or if it mixed better when chilled. After playing a tedious guessing game with the measurements and order of ingredients, she grinned widely when she took the slightly golden cupcakes out of the oven. She waved away her guardians' hands, prodding them gently as she sent a quick prayer of thanks up to the heavens. They looked perfect, skillfully decorated and adorned with edible flowers, beads and pearls, just sitting on the table waiting to be tested. She watched her classmates bring in intricately designed cakes with several tiers, or iced fruit tarts, but she was happy to stand there with her modest tray that reflected her hard day of work. But the proud grin dropped off her face when she saw people coughing into their napkins, barely managing to take more than one bite of her mediocre cupcakes while Anne's face was swept with confusion. Marilla took a cautious bite of her own and tried her best not to frown at the bitter taste, rubbing Anne's back tenderly.</p><p>It turns out she had forgotten to add the sugar.</p><p> With the dramatic tendencies of a fourteen-year old and something that was distinctly <em>Anne</em>, she ran home and threw herself down on her bed with a cry of frustration. She warned away the knocks on her door but when Marilla later returned with a new tray of cupcakes (with an extra sprinkle of sugar), she let her wipe away her tears and whisper that Anne was sweet enough on her own.</p><p>That was just what they did. When Anne wore holes into her favorite pair of jeans, Marilla was the one to stitch up the knees, even adding small flower designs as practice for her weekly embroidery class. When she was woken up by another nightmare, Matthew spooned extra dollops of homemade whipped cream into her hot chocolate and stroked her hand until she was no longer scared to fall back asleep. They brought her first bike and taught her how to swim, they encouraged her to study harder and sat right there in the front row when she graduated from high school. And when she got caught up in another one of her crazy schemes to protest against bullying, homophobia and the cost of college tuition, they picked her up from the principal's office and promised her that someday her voice would be heard. They taught her everything that they know, how to work hard, how to forgive, how to forget, how to <em>let go</em>, but when the day came - they still weren't prepared to leave her. Marilla's paranoia arrived in the form of too-many questions and Matthew could barely look her in the eye before she left for Toronto. And she could hear it, what was right there in their voices whenever she gave them a call - <em>the hope</em> - how they were always wishing, somewhat selfishly, that she would decide to come home.</p><p>And if she returned now with no income in her pocket and a heart filled with dreams that could never be fulfilled, they would both know that it had all been for nothing. She couldn't find it within herself to admit that she had messed everything up with her loud mouth and short temper - just like she always did.  As her thumb hovered over the <strong>DIALL </strong>option, she couldn't shake the fear of letting down the only family that had ever treated her as their own.</p><p>She put down the phone.</p><p>...</p><p>The next morning, she woke up before the sun had even started to stream through her lace curtains. Her hair was braided out of her face, sleeves rolled up as she sat in front of her laptop and willed herself to fix everything. The first night she ever spent at Green Gables, she had begged Marilla to tuck her in so that she didn't have any nightmares and as she sat down beside her bed, she asked in a small childlike voice - <em>do dreams really come true?</em> Her newly-adoptive mother heaved out a heavy sigh, thinking on it for a long while before she turned to the scrawny redhead with the wide blue eyes and whispered - <em>if you keep believing in them.</em> It might have been nothing more than an effort to get the talkative child to sleep, but Anne carried the words right beside her heart and she felt them tingling underneath her rib cage as she started furiously typing away. There was a tiredness deep within her bones that she pushed past, tucking loose tendrils of hair away from her face as she continued writing whatever nonsense her brain was spilling at <strong>7 am</strong>. It was a tiredness that had been there since she arrived in the big city with buildings that loomed above her, trapping her in and making her feel smaller than ever before. Somehow she wasn't sure if the tiredness would ever go away, not until she could feel the warm soil beneath her feet, diving beneath her cotton sheets in the bedroom that once took away her nightmares.</p><p>As she tossed another crumpled piece of paper into her bin, a timid knock at her door interrupted her flow and she resisted the urge to snarl.</p><p>
  <em>"You."</em>
</p><p>If Anne thought that the universe was finding amusement in her recent misfortune, it was definitely laughing at her now. It was <strong>7:35 am</strong> on a Friday morning and the cackle from the heavens above appeared in the form of her next-door neighbor Gilbert, leaning against her door frame with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.</p><p><em>"Me"</em> Gilbert held up his hands guiltily, his nose crinkling in a way that made her eyes widen when the smell of burning clouded her own senses.</p><p><strong><em>"FUCK!"</em></strong> she cursed loudly, opening the door a little wider for him to come in while she sprinted to her cluttered kitchen, "...just come in, my toast is burning!"</p><p>Gilbert cautiously stepped in to her apartment, soaking in every last detail as his eyes ran over the somewhat-terrifying new territory.</p><p>She was a living rainbow and he thought it only fit for such a girl to live in an abundance of color. It was filled with every single detail that made up who she was, and he hoped that by stepping into the bright space completed with lacy curtains to welcome the morning sun, that he would get a closer look inside the book that was Anne Shirley-Cuthbert before she slammed it shut. In one corner lay a cramped kitchen that was identical to his own, despite her deciding that it needed a bold splash of colour, judging by how she had covered the cupboards in a garish shade of yellow. It was opposite the living space where she had swapped out the musty sofa for an extra bookshelf, squashed right next to a small rounded table with mismatched chairs. Even the chairs were a rainbow of their own - one turquoise, one pink, one orange, another green. They had cracks that she had tried to paint over and a thick book was being used to level out some of the wobbly chair legs so that she could sit on them. But what he couldn't stop himself from chuckling at, was the army of plants filling up mismatching pots, any jug or wooden box that she could stuff the greenery into. Some had started to grow through the cracks in her window sill as if they were trying to take over the entire apartment, but judging by how she had just added more to her collection - Anne certainly didn't seem to mind living in her makeshift jungle.</p><p>Through the sliding doors leading to a cramped balcony space that matched his, he could just about peek at a cozy seating area covered in a mountain of pillows. He could imagine her lit up by the fairy lights at night, tapping a pen against her little pointed chin as she let her mind run wild for a new novel. She really had made a habit to make this place her home, whilst Gilbert still had cardboard boxes from when he moved in over a month ago, filled with objects that he couldn't find the energy to unpack.</p><p>After committing everything to memory, glancing curiously at the shut door to her bedroom (or rather writing cave), Gilbert found himself drawn to the sight in front of him. Anne was leaning against the sink, using a butter knife to scrape off the burnt bits on her toast, her pink tongue poking out in concentration. It was hard to find such a woman intimidating, especially when he noticed the multi-colored butterflies on her pajama bottoms and the rainbow socks that she had slipped on. Her red braids were flicked behind her shoulders, drawing lines down the grey sweatshirt that she was drowned in, and with her sleeves rolled up, he tried to imagine that she meant business. But the word slipped out of his mouth without much consideration or thought of consequence.</p><p>
  <em>"...cute."</em>
</p><p>It was barely more than a mumble but it had Anne's cheeks flushing, eyes narrowing in on him as she placed her (crispier than desired) toast back onto a blue plate. "What?"</p><p>He nodded down to her pajama bottoms, "Butterflies."</p><p>Anne rolled her eyes, opening up one of her top cupboards and starting to rifle through it to find the jar of nutella, "I wouldn't advise you to question my choice of pajama bottoms, <em>Mr Plaid Pants."</em></p><p>"It was laundry day!" he protested weakly.</p><p>She hummed under her breath disbelievingly.</p><p>Gilbert put his hands in his jean pockets, hoping that it came across as a casual statement, "...I, um...haven't seen you around for a while."</p><p>She made sure to keep her back turned to him as she continued searching through her upper cupboards, "...I've been busy."</p><p>"Have you been writing?"</p><p>A small huff escaped her lips as she noticed the nutella jar at the back of her top shelf, just out of reach, "...trying to...", she was distracted as she reached on her tiptoes, groaning out of frustration when her fingers barely brushed the jar, <em>"...Oh, for fucks sake!"</em></p><p>"Do you need any help?" he offered gently.</p><p>"I've got it..." she mumbled stubbornly, brushing past him so that she could grab the orange chair from her dining table and drag it below the cupboard that she needed to reach.</p><p>His eyes zeroed in on the wobbly chair that had previously been supported by a thick dusty book, "...you're...you're not going to stand on that thing are you?"</p><p>"It's the sturdiest one!" she argued, "...and besides, I've done it before. I just need to stop shoving the jar to the back because I can never fucking reach it...<em>oh shit-"</em></p><p>Gilbert gritted his teeth when her foot nearly slipped off the chair as she tried to stand on it, before even reaching for the shelf. He couldn't help but let the doctor in training slip out of him as he watched her near miss, frowning at the thought of having to patch her up yet again, "...You'll fall and hurt yourself! And I won't patch you up this time if you get up on that chair when you'll just-"</p><p>"You don't need to patch me up!" she retorted, "...I'm not a child and <em>fuck-"</em></p><p>The second her foot nearly slipped for the second time, he was grabbing onto her arms and pulling her down from the wobbly chair. "That's it - I'm helping you."</p><p>He looked close to a gallant knight rescuing the princess from the tower and she felt the need to continue with a lifted chin, "...honestly, I'm a lot more responsible than I look! I have gotten myself into a number of varied predicaments and I always find my way out of them unscathed! In fact, when I lived back home I would fend off the crows with a tennis racket when they came down to attack the baby mice in the fields! Pesky little things, all they think about is their stomachs...<em>oh!...</em>and last month I saved my friend's baby kitten. He got himself in all kinds of trouble, climbing up a big tree and the poor thing couldn't get down, my friend Ruby was rather distraught but I managed to-"</p><p>"...well, haven't you just had a life full of adventure...", Gilbert teased, easily grabbing the nutella jar with the extra four inches he had on her.</p><p>Anne shrugged, "Some would say that I have a knack for getting into trouble, but I like to imagine that the dangers of the world call out to my soul! I'm always careful, so I'm sure a wobbly chair wouldn't send me to my death bed."</p><p>An eyebrow quirked curiously, "...don't you always hit your head on that street light when you come home drunk?"</p><p>She paused. "I...won't dignify that question with a response."</p><p>He smiled at her as if they were whispering secrets, hesitating for a second before passing the nutella jar over to her, their hands brushing in the process. That's it - their hands <em>brushed</em>. In that second their skin found each other, fingers meeting in the middle before falling away again. There were no fireworks or sparks of lightning, nothing great and powerful from the heavens striking them down on the spot for causing such a disturbance within the universe. Yet, Anne felt shaken. He was looking at her with that same <em>stupid </em>smile, the slopes of his face trusting and open as if he was a new book for her to dive into, and she wondered how a simple touch felt like such a disaster. It felt casual but simultaneously earth-shattering, like one drop in a calm ocean that would soon turn into a catalyst for a destructive hurricane. By letting their hands touch, Anne had let the door inside her heart fly open with a trail of butterflies filling the space, something within her struggling to get a grip as her heart lurched itself into his careful hands. All of a sudden she found herself wondering if they had ever purposely brushed fingers on the nights that she stumbled into his apartment and she wondered if it would ever happen again. It wasn't important but it felt like something she needed to know, as if the world would start spinning on a different axis if her skin could somehow recognize his.</p><p>Gilbert couldn't help the grin from slipping off his face as she practically scuttled away to the other side of her kitchen, hastily spreading the nutella over her crispy toast. He watched her with a guarded expression, swallowing the heavy pill of her pulling away from him yet again. He was disappointed that she kept stalling, running, <em>avoiding</em> - but most of all he was frustrated at himself for caring so much about a pathetic moment that could have been meaningless to her.</p><p>Her hands carelessly reached for her biscuit tin, popping a chocolate digestive in her mouth and mumbling through the crumbs, "You want a biscuit?"</p><p>"Do you always have biscuits for breakfast?" he laughed softly.</p><p>"Are you my dietitian?" she retorted.</p><p>Right as he was about to give another smart comment in return, his eyes settled onto the bright green frog-shaped biscuit tin in her arms. It wasn't the assorted contents that caught his attention, nor was it the quiet sound of her nervously chewing away at another biscuit. Anne seemed to catch onto his intense stare on the object and she swallowed hastily, looking at him weirdly, <em>"What?"</em></p><p>"It's just..." he let the soft smile spread over his entire face, this time without shame, "...you told me about that biscuit tin when we first met."</p><p>A solemn silence settled over them and Gilbert let himself imagine that Anne was smiling back at him, not because she was imagining herself drunkenly rambling about a biscuit tin, but because she was glad to have met him. He almost let himself ask how things would have turned out differently in a parallel universe - if they would have continued this back and forth like strangers (that were somehow anything-<em>but</em> strangers) or if they would have somehow got further than they were now. His lips were parted, ready to confess that he would have tried to find a way into her life somehow, even if she had not disturbed their fate herself by knocking on his door by mistake. He was seconds away from telling her that if he saw her down by the mail box, or taking out her trash, or struggling to get her key into the door with food in her hands, that he would have introduced himself, he might have even gathered up the courage to ask for her number. It felt important to tell her that no matter what universe they were in, no matter how the stars and fates tried to intervene, or what day of the week it was - <em>he would have made sure they ended up meeting.</em> But he had only just got a real smile out of her and part of him held back on the desperation, trying to reign in the horses that were trying to charge forward.</p><p><strong><em>One step at a time,</em></strong> he told himself.</p><p>When Anne noticed that her smile was verging on dopey, she felt heat creeping down her neck as she finally remembered something, "...so, uh...what was it you needed?"</p><p>He almost forgot himself for a moment but he patted down his jeans, handing her a letter with her name on it. When she looked confused, he cut in nervously - "It looks like some of our mail got mixed up. I wanted to bring it over...it's uh, quite common. I've heard that it happens in many big apartment buildings with low maintenance and especially with a landlord like ours...it was bound to happen at some point."</p><p><em>"Oh",</em> she tasted the word on her tongue as she looked down at her letter, "...um, thank you for bringing it over."</p><p>Gilbert nodded. "Anytime."</p><p>"Is that all?" she asked hesitantly, leading him back to her front door, antsy to continue working on something that would keep her brain from being distracted. Gilbert tried not to let his disappointment show as he hovered by her doorstep, looking down at her welcome mat and taking a deep breath.</p><p>
  <em>"Can I take you for breakfast?"</em>
</p><p>Anne raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to catch on.</p><p>He caught himself, laughing awkwardly, "...no, I don't mean...<em>right now!</em> I know you're already eating breakfast, I...uh, meant some other time so that you don't have to settle for burnt toast or potentially injure yourself while reaching for the nutella."</p><p>"I usually grab breakfast with one of my friends."</p><p>"You couldn't spare one day?" he tilted his head, lips pouting.</p><p>She crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't really have much of an appetite when I'm writing all of the time."</p><p>"Oh, come on..." he sent her a disbelieving look, <em>"...what have you got against breakfast?"</em></p><p>Anne sighed. "I'm not much of a breakfast person."</p><p>Gilbert raised his hands in surrender, biting his lip in the hopes that she wouldn't notice the slump in his shoulders. He really hadn't been expecting anything, more than anything he was just wondering if she would stamp on his foot or slam the door in his face. But the disappointment was still there, dark and bitter inside of his chest. He took a step back and plastered a grin on his face, "...well, I'm sure I'll still see you around. Maybe this weekend if you're planning on going out with your friends. After all, I'll be here if you're lost."</p><p>She nodded enthusiastically, hoping that it looked believable. It wasn't enough to convince Gilbert in the slightest but he nodded, just narrowing his hazel eyes just a fraction more, as if getting ready to enter the next level of whatever game they were playing. It was that unstoppable energy, the sense that he would be there waiting for her when she was ready, if she was ever ready - that caused her to flinch away once more.</p><p><em>"Thanks for the mail delivery"</em> she chirped before shutting the door right there in his face.</p><p>...</p><p>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">COLE </span>
  </strong>
  <strong>  you up for going out tomorrow night?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">ANNE</span>
  </strong>
  <strong>   nope</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">COLE </span>
  </strong>
  <strong>  but you always want to go out</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">ANNE</span>
  </strong>
  <strong>   not this time</strong>
</p><p>...</p><p>The writer's block continued over the next week, causing time to stretch and wrap around Anne's neck like a vice. She had plenty of words but none of them were coming through in the right order, as if she had been shaken up from the inside, the sentences jumbled up on the page. It made her want to rip her hair out, her eyes stinging from staring at her laptop for so long just rewriting and deleting every sentence that the editor inside her rejected. It all felt so fake, so artificial, as if she had decorated it with shiny plastic and splashes of glitter to cover up the lack of depth and heart that she usually had.</p><p>But her writer's block continued spiraling on and she wasn't sure if anything could truly cure it, not when she had tried every method possible and Gilbert <em>kept</em> turning up at her door. He was like an electrified billboard that was specifically designed to distract her, knocking every morning just when she had managed to clear her clouded mind with the generous sun rays from her bedroom window. While she tried her best not to glare at him, he tried not to laugh at her colorful pajamas and messy braids, shrugging light-heartedly as he passed her some letters that got caught up in his mail. And as if trying to taunt her <em>further</em>, he kept asking her out for breakfast as if it was some fun game. It made her want to smack him around the head with her burnt toast and implore with him to ask one of the pretty girls down their hallway out to breakfast. Anne had tried getting up extra early to make her breakfast, chewing it pointedly in front of his eyes when he asked the stupid question and she had tried blaring her music so loudly that he couldn't even hear her next lame excuse. The latter resulted in a noise complaint from one of her neighbors who did not appreciate listening to 90's rock at <strong>7 am</strong> in the morning. But she was running out of ideas and above all else, she couldn't understand why he kept <em>trying</em>. Gilbert didn't seem like the type to misunderstand the basic values of <strong>NO MEANS NO</strong>, so she put it down to some disconnection within his tiny little brain.</p><p>...</p><p>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">DIANA</span>
  </strong>
  <strong>   please come out this weekend, I'll be bored without you</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">ANNE </span>
  </strong>
  <strong>   nope</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">DIANA</span>
  </strong>
  <strong>   apparently you refused last weekend too </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">ANNE</span>
  </strong>
  <strong>   I'm having a detox </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">DIANA</span>
  </strong>
  <strong>   is it because of someone whose name rhymes with Pilbert</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">ANNE</span>
  </strong>
  <strong>   I don't know what you're talking about </strong>
</p><p>...</p><p>Gilbert had been having a pretty uneventful week. He had been struggling through his usual shifts at the hospital, taking naps through his breaks and making an extra coffee to stay on the good side of Dr Ward. He played board games with Delly and stayed over while Mary cooked dinner, rolling his eyes as Bash reminded him yet again that he would soon die alone if he didn't snap up some pretty girl quickly. He made excuses when James asked why he was still so distracted and he ignored Bash's questions about what was taking up so much space in his mind. They were questions that he had no idea how to answer. The truth was, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert took up <em>more </em>than just the space in his mind, she was like an addictive substance that had filled up his veins, travelling around to every artery, filling up every part of him. He was worried that she would rip him apart from the inside, if she didn't break his heart first. But he was just<em> fine</em> with that. In all honesty, he wouldn't find it within himself to care if she shattered his heart into little pieces, or if she stomped all over his pride and tore down everything that was held within his soul.</p><p>As she opened her apartment door with her long red hair spilling over her shoulders (not in braids this time), eyebrows furrowed in that adorable way, pyjama bottoms dotted with little white daises - he was reminded of the reason <em>why</em>. Just by standing there in front of him, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert made him feel <em>so much</em>. She was a melodic tune to drown out the white noise that echoed in his mind for so many years, she was a sprinkle of fairy dust that made him feel like he could fly when he actually seconds away from plummeting down another dark hole. Truthfully, after being stuck with the sensation of feeling <em>nothing </em>for so long, he welcomed all of the big, beautiful yet scary feelings that filled up every part of him when he was in her company.</p><p>
  <em>"Gilbert."</em>
</p><p>He was too deliriously happy to notice the edge to her voice, his eyes already twinkling with the stars that he was sure she had stored inside her heart. "Anne."</p><p>"Let me guess..." her shoulders were stiff as she crossed her arms over her chest, smile too bright, "...you're just dropping off some of my mail."</p><p>It took a second for her tone to register and his eyebrows furrowed, something within him suddenly feeling so unsure, "...um...yes, you know what our landlord is like with these kinds of things. I keep meaning to go down there and sort it out but I just thought I would-"</p><p><em>"Oh, really?"</em> Anne retorted, looking at him pointedly, "...you know, that is really funny. It's <em>pretty fucking</em> <em>hilarious</em> actually, because I ran into him yesterday on the stairs and thought it best to straighten out this little mail issue we've been having."</p><p>His expression slipped, "Anne, I-"</p><p>She continued right on, slapping salt into the wound carelessly while he shuffled there like an idiot, with one of her letters in his hands, "...and do you know what he told me? He was pretty fucking confused about how our letters have been getting mixed up, especially since he hasn't had any complaints from the other tenants about mistakes being made...and <em>especially</em> since his lovely gentleman of a new tenant that lives <em>right next door</em> to me, offered to hand out the mail for our floor personally over a week ago!"</p><p>He winced, "Look-"</p><p><em>"So, what is it then?"</em> she wrapped her arms around herself tighter, glaring at him harshly, "...is this some weird gentleman-like fantasy you have going on with all of the women in our apartment building, or can you just not take <em>NO</em> for an answer?"</p><p>"I-I..just-"</p><p>Anne bristled, "...you just <em>what?!"</em></p><p>"Are you even going to let me explain?"</p><p>"Are you just going to give me another stupid excuse?" she argued.</p><p>Gilbert could feel something uncomfortable sliding its way down his back, "I-I just, I offered to help out with the mail because I wanted to be useful and I thought mistakes could easily occur if nobody is there to sort it out properly. It goes in these stupid little boxes downstairs and I didn't think it would be any harm to make it easier for our floor and to deliver it to everybody by hand so that they don't-"</p><p>"I told you I didn't want another lie or another load of bullshit! Is that <em>all </em>you're going to do?! Just keep avoiding my questions and denying that all you're doing is pretending and giving me excuses-"</p><p><em>"Excuses?"</em> he replied hotly, gritting his teeth, "...<em>you're one to talk about excuses!</em> They are all you ever give me when I offer to take you to breakfast, or is that just something you do with every other guy on this floor as well?"</p><p>Anne scoffed. <em>"Is that what this is about?"</em></p><p>He looked away, heat tickling the back of his neck as he stumbled over his words, "...I don't k-know, Anne! M-Maybe...maybe I wanted to do something nice for you without the risk of you arguing with me, or maybe I just wanted to talk to you when you're not drunk or suffering with a hangover in my bed!"</p><p>"You wanted to see how long I could stay sober...<em>is that it?"</em> she suggested defensively, curling her hands into fists by her side, "...or did you just want to keep making a fool out of me and keep reminding me about that night? I'm sorry, <em>okay?</em> I know I'm a mess and I really didn't mean to show up drunk or to drag you into my life, but it's pretty fucking hard to stop being embarrassed about it when you bring it up every single time you see me! Do you think that's something I'm proud of? That I go drinking whenever I'm upset or bored or that I can't make it home without bothering my new neighbor-"</p><p>"Anne, I'm not trying to embarrass you-"</p><p>"Well, you're doing a pretty fucking good job of it-"</p><p>"You know what? I think <em>you</em> would end up bringing it up even if I didn't...<em>yeah</em>, maybe it would be another excuse for you to ignore me and avoid any chance at getting to know someone! I haven't tried to embarrass you or told you that you cause problems, you're doing that all on your own, Anne! You've treated me like I'm some kind of asshole or monster since we met and I know I lied about the whole mail mix-up, but all I've been trying to do is speak to you more! I just wanted to talk to you when you're not arguing with me, or ask you questions and get some answers...is it such a crime to want to get to know you?!"</p><p>Anne looked away sharply. "Maybe you've been lacking some attention."</p><p>
  <em>"Or maybe I just want to have breakfast with you!"</em>
</p><p>It was in that moment that she saw what was right there in front of her - something verging on desperate, something genuine, something <em>unsure</em>. With those eyes that encompassed all of the colors of autumn, something that reminded her distinctly of home, and those unfairly long eyelashes and curved cheekbones, she once thought it impossible for him to look so unsure of himself. But in that moment, he looked more lost than she was. He was standing there, waiting for her to say something but just like they turned out on the pages, her words were all backwards and jumbled up. There was a strange kind of hurt in his eyes that made her feel worse, because she had hurt him, within barely a month of knowing her and offering breakfast dates and a soft bed to sleep in when she couldn't make her way home, she had the ability to make him<em> hurt</em>. Anne was no stranger to hurt and when she saw it in the eyes of another, it gave her this sense of power that she would never know what to do with, it made her feel like a corrupt leader of a kingdom, the villain that burned down all of the village in the story books. Knowing that she had put it in the eyes of kind, respectful, smart, curious, welcoming Gilbert - it made something deep inside of her feel <em>wrong.</em></p><p>All this time she had been putting it down to an error in his brain, or some messed up psychological issues or hero complex that he was carrying around, but maybe he was right. Maybe <em>she </em>was the one that couldn't stop making up excuses. She tried to tell herself that the problem lay with him, when underneath it all, she was the root of the problem, the stubborn weed that he kept trying to prod and poke at as an effort to dig out the bad parts. There were echoes in her head, voices that would never truly go away and she had hoped that his concerned voice would someday be enough to drown them out, but they just wouldn't leave her alone. It was something that he would never understand and the more times he knocked on her door, or slipped a butterfly plaster over the bump on her head, or asked her out for breakfast, or lunch, or dinner - the faster she wanted to run. He might have been irritating, persistent and way too caring for his own good, but maybe she had been making excuses because she knew that he just wanted to get to know her.</p><p>And maybe that was what scared her above all else.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>https://blacklivesmatter.com/</p><p>- please click this link and any other resources you find to help fight with us. this can be draining on mental health so there is no shame on taking breaks and making sure to keep yourself in check, but this is such an important issue that cannot be ignored. I am heartbroken and I'm sure so many of you are too, and I encourage you to donate if you can (using free youtube streaming videos if you do not have the money for it) and to keep spreading the word and sharing as many resources and as much love as you can - </p><p>I love you all and I stand with you. I know I will never understand, but I'm here to listen and educate myself and you can always message me and find me on my social media links below for any love or support.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. help get my feet back on the ground</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>anne and gilbert find a deeper kind of understanding</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>you may want to get your tissues ready!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>"-and he has a nice chin! I mean seriously, who the fuck has a nice fucking chin?"</em>
</p><p>"...chin?"</p><p><em>"Yes! Chin!"</em> she whimpered, stumbling over her sentences as her head span round and round in circles, "...and t-that's not even the worst part! He has fucking perfect skin as if h-he drinks ten bottles of water a-a day or some shit...a-and his eyes are like pretty trees, brown and green...really, r-really pretty...I mean - d-do you know many people with eyes that look like trees?"</p><p>The woman in the bathroom with Anne looked at the door awkwardly, shaking her head quickly with a slightly scared expression.</p><p>"...a-and then his face looked weird..." she reached out in front of her, twisting around her fingers into the shape of a frown with squinted eyes, "...e-eyebrows low and lips all pouty...<em>sad</em> lips...and then he just left. I-I think maybe I hurt him..." she blew out a breath and pressed her fingers against her temples to try and stop the pounding, "...<strong><em>arghhhh....</em></strong><em>what's wrong with me?!" </em></p><p>Anne looked back down at the sink and whined miserably, "..h-he smells like pine needles."</p><p>There was a pressure pounding against her skull, beating like a constant drum and she placed her hands over her ears in an attempt to muffle it. Her head felt heavy but her body was weightless like the feeling of floating underwater while the world keeps moving above the surface. She was held on pause, trying with every raspy breath to catch up to those around her but her limbs would not move no matter how hard she tried. She wasn't sure if anybody truly knew what it felt like to be <em>broken</em>, but she knew that something had shifted inside of her a long time ago and wherever it went, it left an empty space behind that she had never been able to fill. With every smile and bubble of laughter, every good day, every hope in her heart - she had tried, she really did<em> try</em> to close up the gaps within her soul. But the harder she tried, it left her gasping for breath as if the holes inside of her were only getting wider the more that she tried to patch them up.</p><p><em>"What should I-" </em>her head snapped up but she saw nothing but her reflection staring back at her. After briefly glancing around, squinting slightly to get past the blurriness in her vision, she concluded that she was now alone - or maybe she had been all along, it was not certain. Some part of her remembered stumbling into the bathroom and interrogating the woman fixing her lipstick in the mirror, inviting another stranger into her problems and spilling everything before it overflowed out of her. But the other part of her was not sure if the woman's quick escape had been nothing more than her imagination.</p><p>And then all of a sudden - she was alone in the stuffy woman's bathroom at <strong>11:53 pm</strong> and there was nobody to convince her that everything would be alright. By staring at the distorted image in the mirror, completed with cold pale cheeks and smudged eyeliner that she was struggling to fix, she couldn't ignore the crippling realization of how alone she was. And the worst part of it all, was that she had nobody to blame but <em>herself</em>. Anne had mastered the art of pushing people away, even the idiots that asked her out in high school with their expensive haircuts and cocky grins. It continued all the way through college and <em>one by one</em> she would turn them all down in the nicest way possible, gently reminding them that it had nothing to do with them and everything to do with her. But when Gilbert came along with a kindness that she had never experienced and eyes that reminded her of the Avonlea trees, something was different. It felt like he was violating her soul just by looking at her and every time she opened her mouth to kindly decline his offers like she did to all of the others, she couldn't fight her instincts to yell at him. Every fibre of her body, every primal instinct that she ever had, it all told her that he was bad news, nothing but trouble and that she should stay away from him. Anne wasn't even sure why she was so angry in the first place. But as soon as she started to refuse him, there was a pull deep in her gut that she could recognize from anywhere. It was the crushing weight of knowing that she was making a big mistake. And after that, she stopped to wonder if the reason she felt like such a fool, was because it was the very first time that she had ever wanted to say <em>yes.</em></p><p><strong><em>Fuck it,</em></strong> she thought, <strong><em>I'm not drunk enough to be thinking this much.</em></strong></p><p>Her hands pushed open the heavy door tiredly, eyes roaming around the mostly-empty bar so that she could find a nice dark spot to drown her sorrows in. Barely anyone gave her a second glance as she started to skip towards the bar, humming under her breath, they were all used to her antics by now and knew that it was best to leave her be. But then she stood tall and still in the middle of the bar, steady on her feet for the first time all night.</p><p>At first she thought that she had imagined him, or rather <em>hoped. </em></p><p>It was almost strange to remember that he was not a figment of her imagination, she did a double take after seeing him somewhere other than their apartment building - suddenly aware that her mind had not made him up. There he was, looking tired but unfairly beautiful as he laughed heartedly, hand closed around a mostly full pint of beer. She watched the curls flop over his forehead as he ran a hand up to rub at his eyes and it was only when he shrugged lightly that she noticed he was in the middle of a conversation with her favorite bartender. He was sitting there at the bar in her usual spot, mostly turned away from her but he almost jumped out of his skin when she stormed over with heavy footsteps.</p><p>
  <em>"Anne?!"</em>
</p><p>"Are you following me now?" she snapped, letting her hand smack down on the bar's surface beside him to make him jump, "...I thought we clarified that no means<em> no</em>, or did you just decide t-to...to resort to stalking me instead?"</p><p>Bash's eyebrows jumped up to his forehead, "Wait, do you two know each other?"</p><p>Her frown deepened and she looked between the two and the way they were laughing comfortably with each other, looking like old buddies. She blurted out - <em>"Do you?!"</em></p><p>Gilbert spoke up in a hushed voice, "He's my brother...", he caught her confused expression before he started to glance around the quiet bar, making sure that they weren't attracting too much attention before swiftly changing the subject to a less complicated one, "...I didn't even know that you come<em> here</em>...I just stopped by to see him after my shift. I promise I wasn't trying to stalk you or anything, I think I got the message pretty clear after yesterday-"</p><p>Bash laughed at Gilbert - "...<em>she's</em> the firecracker that you haven't shut up about? <em>Anne?!</em> Oh, that's just-"</p><p><em>"Perfect! Fucking perfect!"</em> Anne snapped, feeling like falling off the top of the bar so that she could wake up from this nightmare, "You know him...<em>of course!</em> I...<em>of course</em> you know him, isn't that j-just something! That's just <em>fucking fantastic!</em> You come in here with your stupid face and that fucking nice chin - <em>seriously who even has a nice chin</em>?!...a-and you want to...and you know Bash my favorite bartender, <em>of fucking course!"</em></p><p>Bash whistled under his breath, looking at Gilbert before gesturing between the pair of them, <em>"...good luck with that, Blythe."</em></p><p>He didn't even have the energy to glare at his brother, too busy watching Anne throw her jacket over the chair next to him and slumping down into her seat with a huff, "...Why are you here? Wait, why are you here <em>alone?"</em></p><p>Anne mumbled bitterly, "I don't <em>always</em> involve other people in my problems."</p><p>Gilbert sighed.</p><p>"Bash, can you get me another drink?...like literally anything strong-"</p><p>"I think you've had enough, Anne-"</p><p>She turned to snap at him, "I wasn't talking to <em>you!"</em></p><p>From across the bar it would have looked like any argument, just another boyfriend coming to take his drunk girlfriend home. But if you looked closely enough, you might start to see the layers and multitudes beneath their glares, an entire conversation that they weren't ready to have out loud. It was a duel of fierce gazes - both of them holding on until the end, not ready to surrender until they took it all, unwilling to admit to defeat because they were both tired of feeling so weak. Gilbert's stare hardened and although Anne's mind was fuzzy, she didn't dare look away because she would never back down from any kind of confrontation. There was a buzzing in her bones that not even Gilbert could quieten.</p><p>Just opposite them, Bash pretended to clean some wine glasses with a cloth as he continued to eavesdrop on their conversation. He just couldn't help but watch the biggest entertainment of his entire night, whistling quietly under his breath and merely looking away quickly whenever Gilbert sent him a pointed look to serve other customers.</p><p>"Come on, I'll take you home-"</p><p>Anne groaned, "I'm not going anywhere with you! You're not my keeper-"</p><p>"I live right next door!" he reminded her.</p><p>"And I want to stay here for longer! I'm my own human being, Gilbert Blythe. I am perfectly capable o-of getting myself home later tonight. You're not the boss of me and I-I...I don't owe...owe you anything, okay?!"</p><p>"Anne..." he pleaded, trying to catch her wild gaze, "...It will be safer for you us to go home together. I don't want to argue with you, I'm not carrying you out of here-"</p><p>"You bet your fucking ass you're not!"</p><p>Gilbert resisted the urge to smack his head down on the bar's surface with frustration, "...You know it will be safer for me to get you home!", he raised a singular eyebrow spitefully, "...and come to think of it, you've never seemed to have a problem with it <em>before."</em></p><p>She protested with another shake of her head, laying her cheek on the table and letting her arms come up to cover her face. "<em>No, no, no...</em>I-I mean it! I'm not going back with you, I-I'll make my own way home and stop with the pretty eyes! <em>I'm not falling for it!" </em>He could barely see anything through her mess of red hair and looked at his brother with a forlorn sigh, but Bash merely chuckled and shook his head in response.</p><p>He sighed, closing his eyes before turning back towards her, "...Anne, I'm not trying to say that you're incapable or that I have some...hold over you, but I'm <em>tired</em>. I've just come off a long shift at the hospital and I want to go home and I don't want you sitting here by yourself and struggling to get back when I live right next door! I'm...I just want to do the right thing so <em>please...</em>let me help you home."</p><p>They heard a muffled whine.</p><p><em>"Anne..."</em> his voice was so soft and just enough to break through the fogginess in her mind, pulling her out of the spell she had forced herself under. When she reluctantly took a peek up at him through her covered eyes, he had one arm leaning on the bar, dark circles underneath his tired eyes and the emerald shade of his sweatshirt brought out the green specks among the brown. It was a glimpse beneath the mask of a hero, the mask of a gentleman that sauntered into her life as if truly believing that he could save her, but was just now realizing that nobody ever could. It was just a peek underneath the layer she had looked away from before and it gave way to something new and tender and <em>real</em>. She could feel a warm breeze passing through her, a soft melody dancing between her ears and something clicked into place as his lips parted once more, <em>"...please."</em></p><p><strong><em>Damn those fucking pretty eyes,</em></strong> she thought to herself.</p><p>...</p><p>Gilbert jiggled the key in her apartment lock, starting to smile once he noticed that he was required to turn it at a certain angle, twisting twice before it finally released - just like his. But once he stepped in, it was a completely different world, filled with the essence of something bright and so <em>alive</em>, something so very <em>Anne.</em></p><p>When he turned to check on her, she was looking up at the ceiling with a far-away look in her eyes, rocking back and forth on her heels. He stopped to wonder what she was doing ; this woman with the larger-than life personality that could slay her own dragons, leaning against a wall looking so lost. He felt like a madman stumbling around blindly, reaching towards her with only the best intentions as his hand grazed her arm. From there he whispered to her in a hushed tone, softly guiding her, <em>"...come on, let's get you to bed."</em></p><p>He almost sucked in a breath before pushing her bedroom door slightly ajar, feeling like he was walking in on something without her permission, half-expecting her to smack him around the head with the closest object she could find. But instead, she took quick strides towards the bed, tilting slightly with an identifiable stability before he caught her elbow and eased her into a sitting position. There was no way that he would allow himself to even <em>think </em>about removing her tight clothing into something more comfortable, so he settled for watching her head sink into the pillow with an incoherent mumble.</p><p>Once he looked up, he was doused in a thousand fairy lights. He noticed that she had hung them from every available wall, right way up to the ceiling and even draped several layers over her side lamp which was already switched on. If it was a fire hazard - she clearly didn't care. But the second thing that he took note of, was how <em>inviting</em> it was. If the rest of her apartment was a burning sun beam on a summer's day, her bedroom was nothing but the last remaining embers of a log fire. It lacked the craziness that she carried with her, like a fire that would never burn out no matter how hard others might have tried to extinguish her flames. A makeshift bookshelf covered an entire wall and he wondered if she built the shelves herself from scratch (he certainly wouldn't be surprised), and her bed was covered in a mountain of pillows in each and every color. He grinned when he noticed that she had filled the gaps in the bookshelf wall with even more tiny plants and vines of ivy that brushed against the blankets at the foot of her bed. Covered in a warm golden hue, it reminded him more of a <em>sanctuary</em> than anything else ; somewhere for her to put that brilliant mind to use, somewhere for her to whisper her fears to the darkness, something of her own. And knowing that he was stepping into her private sanctuary ; some part of him worried that he was crossing a line, whilst the other part couldn't shake the sensation of feeling so at <em>home. </em></p><p>On the short walk back to their apartment building, the fluffy material of her bulky tan jacket had been knocking against his arm with nearly every step. It made the hairs on his arm stand up, coated in electricity and he clenched his fists so that he wouldn't run his fingers across the fabric. But she kept humming under her breath, looking up at the sky and remaining completely oblivious to his inward struggle and grapple for sanity. If he had been losing his mind with her jacket touching him, his brain had completely thrown itself out of the window once she settled back onto her bed with only a short black dress covering her. Her feet were dancing absentmindedly on top of her blankets, leather Doc Marten shoes leaving crusts of dirt behind. He tried his best to look away while considerately tucking her legs underneath the duvet covers, noticing that her sheer black tights were decorated with little black hearts. As he started to wonder if they were embroidered by hand or made out of a felt-like fabric, he whispered an apology to whatever great being was watching from above.</p><p>He hoped to settle her as he adjusted her pillows but she shifted almost instantly, hand loosely reaching out for him.</p><p>
  <em>"Gil..."</em>
</p><p>It was a nickname, a sense of familiarity that broke free through all of the times that she had tried to convince herself that he was a stranger. A word easier to say, a short circuit straight to his heart. She didn't even seem to be aware of it but he closed his eyes, feeling the warmth stored inside of his heart pushing against the edges, aching for a way to escape and be known. Gilbert let his finger raise up shakily to brush a lock of hair away from her face.</p><p>"I...um", he cleared his throat, "...I'm just going to get you some water."</p><p>After making his way back to her kitchen, Gilbert paused by the sink and took a deep breath while the glass filled with water. In the darkness, blanketed by the shimmer of fairy lights, her usually blinding yellow cabinets dulled into a muted gold. It bounced off the leaves of her makeshift jungle, refracting off shiny book covers and photo frames until her entire apartment was doused in a welcoming glow. Despite the change in aura, he was practically shaking with fear at the promise of such an intimate evening. It was no secret that Anne poured her energy into quietening the wishes of her heart, snatching back every breath that he stole from her lungs, turning away from him when he started to look closer. There were days where it felt like her heart was shouting out in protest, trying to fight a battle that it could never win. Whenever she was with him she had to remind herself that she was indulging in a fantasy, like a child getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar.</p><p>But with Gilbert, there had always been a sense of <em>surrender.</em> It was like he had given up trying to stop whatever he was feeling, knowing that it was pointless. He had been falling for her unconsciously for weeks and saw no harm in it becoming a conscious decision. It suddenly occurred to him that he would happily stand by and let her break his heart.</p><p>And wasn't that a terrifying thing.</p><p>When he returned to her bedroom, she was sitting there patiently waiting for him. But instead of kicking her legs out playfully or humming to herself, her shoulders were slumped and she wouldn't even look at him. Gilbert frowned a little, sitting down beside her on the bed and helping her take slow sips of water. Once she had finished the entire glass, he tucked the blankets around her so that she would be more comfortable and warm throughout the night, deciding to leave her lights on just in case she was afraid of the dark.</p><p>"I'm sorry."</p><p>He scanned her face, gently asking, "...what?"</p><p>She spoke up feebly, "I'm sorry for always yelling at you."</p><p><em>"Hey...",</em> he soothed her worried expression by running a thumb across her temple, "...get some sleep, okay? I'll leave some painkillers and water in the kitchen but I'll be right next door if you need anything...just knock."</p><p>Gilbert went to move his hand away from her face, but her own covered his fingers to keep them there, eyes not leaving his as she let out a whisper - <em>"I'm adopted."</em></p><p>It was a broken statement, and it hurt him to hear her say it in such a way, like a dark secret that she was afraid to speak or something to be ashamed of, as if she was just that - <em>broken</em>. He had gone cold all over, goose bumps spreading across the expanse of his skin as he noticed that she had begun crying. She cried like a doll, silent and still with tears delicately rolling down her cheeks while she sniffed quietly. For a moment she just stared into space and even as his hands reached up to stop her tears, he worried that she was far away enough that he would never be able to reach her. It was as if the dam finally broke, every part of his body on high alert, panicking as he wiped away the trails of wetness, catching the drops just before they rolled down her cheekbones. After a moment she joined his efforts, running hands over her cheeks while she let out a shaky laugh,<em> "...I-I'm sorry...I just - I haven't told anyone in a really long time."</em></p><p>He couldn't even speak, just staring at her with a new kind of understanding.</p><p>"My...um, my parents died when I was really young, too young to even remember them", she closed her eyes for a moment, "...sometimes it's just flashes of color...or a voice singing to me in a crib but it changes. <em>I like to think that they loved me.</em> You know, e-even if they didn't have me for very long", she sent him a watery smile, "...but...i-it became hard to believe once I went into foster homes."</p><p>"A-Anne...", he tried to keep his voice firm but seemed to be failing miserably, "...y-you don't...I don't...you can stop-"</p><p>She continued on, staring straight ahead at the other wall so that he wouldn't see the damage in her eyes head on, "...they...they liked to make up stories about me, really <em>awful </em>stories a-about me being dumped as a newborn. I-I tried to cover my ears, you know? I really tried to drown it out and imagine something different...", her voice broke the slightest bit, "...b-but I could still hear their words. I think no matter how many t-times you try to build yourself back up...um, the world will always knock you down."</p><p>Gilbert felt queasy.</p><p>"I s-sometimes met families but they...they always picked the other children over me. It just a-always seemed that while everyone else was leaving with...with new families and w-what they had a-always wanted...I was being left behind", she barked out a sad chuckle and it broke his heart how disgusted she sounded, "...<em>I guess I can't blame them</em>. But then one day, I-I...um, I was told that I was to be adopted by a pair of siblings. I was told that neither of them had been married and that t-they wanted s-someone to help around the family farm and I uh, I guess there was some guilt there", Anne sniffed, only noticing that she had still been holding his hand to her face as she moved to wipe away more tears, "...I still remember arriving on t-the first day. I thought it was a mistake. I-It felt like a dream as I s-saw this beautiful farm house and <em>I...I was so terrified to wake up</em>."</p><p>He refused to look away even as his lips trembled.</p><p>"But it was the home I had always dreamed of..." she closed her eyes again, smiling softly through the trails of tears, "...Marilla didn't seem to like me at first and Matthew barely spoke too words but h-he never seemed to mind how much I talked. Back at the orphanage and foster homes...I-I often got in trouble for talking too much and...and it felt <em>nice</em>, you know? To have someone that liked hearing me talk. And I think that after everything...t-they were the first to treat me like their own, to...to show me what love really is. After being told for so long that you aren't going t-to have a home and to have...this dream come out of nowhere, being told t-that...<em>that you matter</em> and that you have a <em>home</em>...", her gaze met his as another tear slipped loose, a half-shrug paired with a soft smile, "...it's something that you...you can't even imagine."</p><p>Gilbert bit his lip, finally whispering,<em> "I can."</em></p><p>Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, a small crease in the middle of her forehead that he wanted to smooth over.</p><p><em>"I'm an orphan too...",</em> he shrugged to make it seem like a lighter confession, but there was a heaviness within him and his voice was fragile despite it being something that he had lived with for so long, "...since I was fifteen."</p><p>Anne drew in a small breath.</p><p>He looked at her knowingly but there was something sad underneath, "...I-I saw the look on your face earlier when I told you that Bash was my brother. It's not something I'm afraid to talk about...I'm not ashamed that he's my family - despite a lot of shit that people still talk behind my back - but...it doesn't really get any easier to say it aloud, <em>does it?"</em></p><p>She shook her head quietly.</p><p>"My father...", he took in a deep breath, shoulders tense, "...my father was sick for a long time...pretty much throughout my early teenage years. There were ups and downs, I tried to stay optimistic, I tried to stay <em>strong</em> for him but I...it was really,<em> really</em> hard. For a long time I was sitting there and watching him slip away from me, sitting there while the most important part of my life was dying and the worst part was that I couldn't do anything about it. I-I never got a chance to know my mother...s-she died giving birth to me, but my Dad and I...we were really close. When he got near the end...I would read to him and after a while he became too weak and couldn't even get up from the bed. I-I...I remember one afternoon he asked to play <em>Battleship</em> again...", Gilbert could feel a roughness in his chest before his voice cracked, tears pricking the corner of his own eyes, "...i-it was our favorite board game to play together when I was younger because I was always so good at it but this time I-I...I let him win. I...T-There was some part of me that just thought if I could...if I could just let him win the game for once, <em>just once</em>...maybe he would be able to fight for another day<em>. I know...i-it was stupid."</em></p><p>Anne shook her head, knocking her hand against his on top of the duvet, <em>"...not stupid."</em></p><p>There was a silence as they looked down at their brushing hands, fingers clasping and squeezing for jolts of comfort. He took in another shaky breath, "...Bash was my father's closest friend and he...had never had it particularly easy either, whatever that means. <em>I didn't have anyone</em>. I was a fifteen year old at my f-father's funeral and Bash was the only person to come up to the lost kid that didn't have anyone else. He...He took me in w-when nobody else did, coming over to make sure that I was eating and getting enough sleep, reminding me to finish my homework", the next sentence was barely a whisper, <em>"...everything that my Dad should have been doing</em>. After sitting alone in an empty house for weeks, wondering why I had lost everything that I ever loved...the only thing I ever <em>knew</em>...he was there for me. So I tried m-my best to be there for him when he found his wife Mary, when t-they had Delly...finding a sister and a niece, pieces that slowly formed into something...c-close, I guess...<em>to a family."</em></p><p>They both sniffed at the same time, letting out a burst of sad laughter.</p><p>"I'm not...I'm not trying to tell you that I had it worse than you, or to make it about me in any way I just...", he frowned, looking down and shaking his head, "...I'm just trying to say that I know what it feels like. I-I know what it's like to have to rebuild a family...to feel like all you are is what was <em>taken</em> from you....<em>or what you never had."</em></p><p>Anne looked at him with forlorn eyes, "...you are so...<em>good.</em> All you want to do...i-is take care of the people around you, to <em>save</em> them...I know that you know w-what it feels like to have no family and to feel just as lonely as I felt for so long, but what I'm trying to say is...don't let it make you forget who you are...", her voice was strained, <em>"...you can't save everyone, Gilbert."</em></p><p>"I think I'll always want to try..." he swallowed, itching to tuck another bothersome curl behind her ear, but not wanting to feel like he was taking advantage of her vulnerability in any way.</p><p>Her face turned grave, hand retreating back to rest on her stomach and he couldn't help but feel empty at the loss of her touch. Although he was barely inches away from her in a dimly lit bedroom, he was solar systems away from her. They were both thinking of the same thing, but he could see the regret in her eyes, as clear as day. It was the regret of a girl that had become used to a switch being flicked on in the back of her mind, springing her back into reality, reminding her that whatever she was reaching for, could be pulled away from her just as easily. And to her, it only made sense to back away before she had the chance to long for something that she didn't deserve. It was something that she could never be proud of, a dark part of her that would always be <em>angry</em> for the things they took from her throughout her childhood. They took away her beliefs of love and happiness and gave her back deep-rooted fears and anxiety, and just when she convinced herself that they didn't have a hold on her anymore, she was reminded that every turn she made, every road she took, every choice she made - it was cheered on by those voices in her head. Everything she did had a reason, a cause and a consequence and she wished more than anything for a different life where she could dip her toes into the shore without a fear of drowning.</p><p><em>"I'm sorry..."</em> she choked and they both knew that she wasn't talking about their experiences anymore, but what the experiences had left behind, "...I'm sorry for always assuming the worst of you, for...r-retreating and turning you down. You never deserved any of it...if anything, you always deserved a chance."</p><p>Gilbert cautiously tucked the curl behind her ear, leaving behind a trail of warmth that she couldn't bear to let go of. "...you don't owe me anything."</p><p>"It's j-just..." she rushed the words out so they sounded less shaky, less broken,<em> "...it took me a really long time to believe t-that anybody would ever want me...",</em> his face started to fall with her brutally honest words, "...and a-after being told for so long that they <em>wouldn't...</em>I think part of me was a-always waiting for you to leave...<em>l-like everybody else."</em></p><p>It made him feel sick to his stomach, that she was speaking in such a matter-of-fact way, that she had spent so long believing that she truly wasn't wanted by anybody no matter how many people came into her life and tried to convince her otherwise. His stomach heaved at the thought of anybody treating her like she was anything less the galaxies around them, that she was made out of broken parts like an old-oiled machine that had begun to rust with time. Her voice was so small and vulnerable as she looked up at him, reminding him of Delly begging him to scare away the monsters under her bed and Gilbert couldn't stop himself from lifting up his hand once more and setting it firmly on her cheek this time. Underneath his palm, her skin was warm and wet from the last few tears, shaking under his touch like fluttering butterfly wings.</p><p>From the moment he saw her, there had been a certain curiosity and fascination that had melted to give way to tenderness. As he spent more time with her, it became to buzz like a calling in his bones, waking up his body to pay attention to this <em>being</em> that was larger than life, this woman that could carve beautiful words into the crumbling world around them. But now it was more than that, it was an <em>understanding.</em> When he opened his mouth to tell her his own story, it felt like they were lifting up their shirts and analyzing scars, but scars that ran even deeper and left damage that could not be seen by the human eye. She had not stuttered, had not looked at him with an ounce of pity or disgust. If anything, she had looked at him as if truly <em>seeing</em> him for the first time. And <em>God</em>, was Gilbert tired of feeling so <em>invisible.</em></p><p>She let her eyes flutter closed as his thumb ran down to her jaw line, tracing the prominent freckles that were lit up by the warmth of the light. He swallowed heavily, pleading eyes looking into her own so that she could see, so that she would<em> know</em> - "Anne, I-I really don't...<em>I really don't want to go anywhere."</em></p><p>Anne shook her head, smiling bitterly, "...the worst part is...t-that<em> I believe you."</em></p><p><em>"You do?" </em>he couldn't keep the hope out of his voice.</p><p>The warmth that had been residing inside him for so long, it had grown so strong that even the gentleness in her voice had broken cracks in the walls of his heart. It throbbed painfully and begun to burst through the cracks, like sunlight catching fire to shards of stain-glass windows.</p><p>"I just...I-I always put my foot in it with you...I always said the wrong thing, embarrassed myself or turned up drunk so that you had to take care of me. You put me to bed, let me stay in your apartment and opened your door to me more times than you should have instead of just-"</p><p>"I-I don't mind..." he told her, being earnest, <em>"...I never minded."</em></p><p>Anne closed her eyes, whispering words so disgusting that it broke his heart, hollowing out all of the beautiful feelings inside of him, "...I-I'll just mess up your...your life like I mess up <em>everyone e-else's."</em></p><p>Gilbert opened his mouth to convince her further but a quiet yawn interrupted him, she burrowed further under the covers, sighing deeply as her body prepared for rest. The alcohol must have been lulling her under and he tucked the blanket right up to her chin, hoping that it would comfort her more than his words ever could. "...I'll be right next door, okay?"</p><p>"Hmm?" she frowned slightly, peeking an eye open to look at him.</p><p>He nodded to her encouragingly, moving her hand to rest on the other pillow, "...shhh, it's okay. <em>Go to sleep."</em></p><p>Anne sat up slightly, more steady and sober than she had seemed all night. Her eyes were boring into his, trying to search for something or to make him understand, but he was just focused on making sure that she got a substantial amount of rest. He waited patiently, wanting to make sure that she was deep asleep and not going to cause any trouble before he left for his own apartment, but there she stayed - asking for <em>something.</em> Just as he was about to beg her to help him understand, to plead with her to get some rest so that they could continue their conversation another time when she was ready for it, she threatened to burst the doors open to his heart completely with one single word.</p><p>
  <em>"Stay."</em>
</p><p>He spluttered helplessly, shaking his head, "I-I can't, you're-"</p><p>She frowned like it was simple, <em>"I want you to stay."</em></p><p>He stumbled over her name weakly, "A-Anne...I'll be just next door and you've been drinking and I don't want you to-", his words were cut off as she patted the empty space beside her, looking at him in such a determined way that he worried that she would refuse to sleep until he gave into her wishes, as inappropriate as they seemed.</p><p>"...I-I<em>...please...",</em> she whispered, "...I-I don't want you to go yet, <em>I don't want to be alone."</em></p><p>In that moment, he was brought back to every lonely night he spent at his house after his father's death, walking slowly around the empty rooms when he couldn't sleep. Sometimes he would look at the dusty picture of his mother when she was pregnant, right next to the slightly crumpled picture of his baby scan that had been taken from a forgotten photo album. Other times, he would stare out of the windows and face the darkness of the night because with the sounds of the busy city outside, at least he knew he would never truly be alone. He could picture a smaller version of the redhead in front of him, asking to sleep with the lamp on so that she wouldn't have to face the dark alone, so that she could distract herself and truly believe that one day she wouldn't be so afraid of it. It was this heartbreaking image and the understanding of what it meant to feel so vulnerable and to want the comfort of someone - <em>anyone </em>- that drove him to heave a deep sigh.</p><p>He bit his lip regretfully, "...just until you fall asleep, okay?"</p><p>She said nothing, simply patting the space beside her once more. Once he settled onto the edge of her duvet (staying on top of the blankets to feel less guilty) he dangled his legs off the side of her bed so that his shoes wouldn't make a mess and almost jumped out of his skin when Anne crawled closer to him. She curled into his side like it was second nature, one arm hooking around his chest as her face found solace in the curve of his shoulder. A few strands of her long red hair spilled across his green sweater and he let out a shaky breath, cautiously wrapping an arm around her back so that she would be cozy. He swore that he felt her smile against the skin of his neck.</p><p>A short while later, her breathing evened out and her grip on his sweater loosened. Gilbert took it as subconscious permission for him to head back to his apartment (to his own bed) and carefully removed her arm from around him. After adjusting her so that she was still covered by the blankets and left undisturbed, he stood up from the bed.</p><p>He wondered what he was doing, how he would ever be able to tell her -</p><p>
  <strike>It wasn't just how she looked at him like he wasn't broken-</strike>
</p><p>
  <strike>He couldn't stop thinking about her hair-</strike>
</p><p>
  <strike>The fact that she squeezed his hand and breathed beside him-</strike>
</p><p>
  <strike>That he is already in fucking love with her-</strike>
</p><p><strong><em>Help,</em></strong> he whined up to the heavens, wanting to rip his hair out.</p><p>But he wasn't sure if he would ever forget the moment that she looked into his eyes, squeezing his hand with an unspoken understanding as he poured out his deepest fears and struggles, eyes never once straying away. It was as if she somehow knew that he had always wanted to be <em>seen</em>. For years he had been tired of the tiptoeing around conversation, of the small talk edged with pity, of others asking how he is getting by as if expecting him to crumble at any moment. But alongside her mismatched apartment and bright soul, she spoke to his soul in the softest way, offering comfort in a way that nobody else ever had. His heart had been hurting for a long time, hoping to break itself into pieces to patch up the lives of others, wondering if it could find itself a place in the world alongside them. And then came along this woman with a flammable spirit, opening up her soul to him like a river - wide and deep to catch him if he fell and found himself sinking to the bottom.</p><p>After bending to leave a tender kiss on her forehead, he wondered if she could find it within herself to help get his feet back on the ground.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>WHEW that was an emotional one to write. It was a chapter I had been looking forward to writing for a long time, since this story was planned, because I am such a sucker for some angst, emotion and character development. I hope this showed more of an understanding of Anne and Gilbert's actions and how their experiences have shaped them ; Gilbert is tired of being alone and invisible, and Anne has always struggled with feeling wanted and with the fear of losing everything good in her life. I'm sorry it took a little longer than expected to write but I did struggle because I wanted it to come out just right, and I am really happy with the result :)</p><p>any comments would really make me feel more confident and soothe my worries, I hope that it felt emotional, vulnerable and REAL. I would LOVE to hear your thoughts &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm not sure how long this is going to be, but it won't have many parts - they will be quite long though sorry not sorry I hope you don't mind long descriptive paragraphs cause that's what you get with me</p><p>social media (be my friend) : </p><p>twitter - @anotherdorklol<br/>instagram - @anotherdorklol<br/>tumblr - @the-strangest-person</p><p>- jodie</p></blockquote></div></div>
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